


Cathedral

by misslucyjane



Series: In Each Other All Along [2]
Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, Alternate Universe - Rock Band, Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Blow Jobs, Hand Jobs, Intercrural Sex, M/M, Oral Sex, Pre-Serum Steve Rogers, Rimming
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-05-21
Updated: 2014-07-13
Packaged: 2018-01-25 23:37:45
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 24,217
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1666673
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/misslucyjane/pseuds/misslucyjane
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A holy place is where you go to find peace.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Multi-chapter, largely because I want this part out in the world and the rest is rather slow in coming. Plus, this way I'll stop fussing with it so much. Probably.

Sam called Steve around noon. "Are you home yet or are you still at the hotel?"

"I'm home," Steve said. "Bucky drove me home hours ago." He scrubbed his hand through his hair -- he'd tried to catch a short nap before he had to leave for his class, and it left his hair sticking up in all directions as well as his head feeling fuzzy and half-asleep. If it hadn't been for the lovebites on his neck and chest and the soreness in his muscles, he would have thought the entire night was a dream. "Where are you?"

"Home, too. Tony's here for the weekend -- he got in last night."

"Come over," Steve said. "My mom's sleeping so we'll have to be quiet."

Sam told this to Tony, and Steve heard Tony reply. Sam said, "We'll be there in ten, quiet as mice."

They hung up, and Steve splashed his face with cold water to wake himself up. On his way back to his room, as he was drying his face he caught a glimpse of the map case, and it was too much of a temptation to resist. He took out the sketchbook and sat cross-legged on his bed to flip through it. Pages and pages, at least twenty, were covered with pictures of Bucky: studies of his hand and eyes and profile; Bucky with his guitar; a full-length sketch of Bucky's nude body; Bucky with a satisfied look on his face that Steve suspected was what people meant when they said "well-fucked."

It hadn't even occurred to Steve to take actual pictures. Something told him Bucky would have said no if he had asked. Instead he had these, drawn by his own hand.

He put the sketchbook away in his school backpack when he heard Sam's car pull into the driveway, and went downstairs to let them in so they didn't have to ring the doorbell. Tony hopped out of Sam's car, looking tanned and relaxed, and he took Steve's front steps two at a time. "Stevie!" He wrapped Steve in a bear hug, and Steve laughed as he hugged Tony back.

"Hey, Tony. Ack, ease up, it hasn't been that long since winter break." Of all of Steve's friends, only Tony was going to school out of state -- but since it was Ivy League and he was a legacy, it was only to be expected.

"I missed my little Stevie." He kept an arm around Steve's neck as Steve towed him inside, Sam trailing behind. "Sam wouldn't tell me about the concert last night, which is patently unfair since I would have gone too if I'd been here and I would have been here if you'd told me you were going in the first place. So spill it, Rogers. What happened last night?"

"Have you two had breakfast? I need breakfast," Steve replied and snaked out of Tony's arms to go to the kitchen. "I made pancakes earlier. There's still some left over." He turned on the oven to warm them up.

Tony stood still, his hands on his hips, then said flatly, "Steven Grant Rogers, you have a hickey or I'm the queen of Romania."

"A gentleman never kisses and tells," Steve replied primly.

Tony looked at Sam, who shrugged with a grin. "What he said."

"You met someone!" Tony accused. "You went to a concert and kissed someone and didn't call me to tell me right away!"

"Keep it down. Make the coffee if you need something to do."

Tony pouted but got the beans from the cupboard and poured them into the grinder. "I can't believe," he said, and pressed the grinding button for a moment to emphasize his point, "that you two didn't tell me," more grinding, "right away. Sam has been looking smug all morning, and now you've finally popped your cherry--"

"Quit complaining," said Sam good-naturedly, and took the grinder to pour the coffee into a filter. "It really wasn't that big--" Tony raised his eyebrow at him -- Tony could make his eyebrows speak whole sentences with just a look, it really wasn't fair -- and Sam burst out laughing. "We met the band."

"We got backstage passes from the radio station," Steve clarified as he filled the reserve tank with water. "They really liked us."

"Naturally," said Tony.

"They liked us so much they invited us to the after-party," Steve said.

"So you kissed some dude at the party? Who, a roadie? You could do worse than a roadie."

Sam and Steve looked at each other. Steve tried very hard not to giggle, but it burbled out of him anyway, and that set Sam off. "Some guy, he says," Sam said between chortles.

"You're killing me, Wilson. Rogers, you're an accessory."

"Natasha Romanov is awesome," Sam said, and Steve kept himself busy with getting the pancakes onto a baking sheet and into the oven. "When I'm done with school I want to marry her and raise beautiful biracial babies."

"You two," groaned Tony and lay his head on the kitchen table.

"She took my number," Sam said. "I don't know if she'll ever call but if she does, I will consider myself the luckiest man alive."

"So you made out with the drummer of Winter Soldier. Good God, Sam, what will your mother say?"

"She'll want to know if Natasha goes to church," Sam said. "Other than that, I think she'll be cool with it."

Tony swung out an arm to point at Steve. "You! Don't think I've forgotten you, mister. What happened last night?"

"Nothing," Steve said and went to the cupboard to get down coffee cups. "Except I slept with Bucky Barnes."

Steve glanced at him over his shoulder -- Tony looked too shocked to even blink.

Sam said worriedly, "Tony?"

"Did he wear a condom?" Tony said at last. "Because if he fucked you bareback I'll rip his throat out with my bare hands."

"Oh, my God," said Steve, "first, why do you assume he topped me? And second, yes, we used condoms. It was very safe. It was amazing and wonderful and stop looking at me like that."

"Our little Steve," said Sam proudly, but Tony still wasn't smiling.

"You're okay?" he said to Steve. "He didn't make you do anything weird?"

"I'm okay," Steve said. "I' promise you it was great, it wasn't weird at all, and I'm really happy. He even drove me home this morning and he wants me to call him after class. I don't know what we're going to do tonight --"

"More sex," said Sam. "Are you kidding? He wants more sex. He's had a taste of you and he wants more." He shook his head in amazement.

"Maybe," Steve muttered, blushing, and tapped the coffee pot as if that would make it brew the coffee faster. He looked at Tony, who was still frowning. "Okay, what?"

Tony inhaled, then said, "Nothing. It's dumb. What time do you have class? I'll drive you over. My car is at Sam's but we can swing by for it, since Sammy has work tonight."

"Thanks," Steve said, still confused, but the coffee was ready and his stomach was growling, and serious talk could wait.

***

They were almost to campus when Tony said, "I always figured your first would be me."

Steve looked at him, his arms tightening around the backpack in his lap.

"'Cause," Tony said. "You know."

"I don't know," Steve said. "You've never even kissed me and now you expect me to believe you want to sleep with me?"

"No," said Tony. "Not exactly. Just, when you were ready, you'd want it to be with a friend."

Steve snorted and looked out the window. "I've been ready for years. No one's noticed, least of all you."

"It's hard to stop thinking of you as our little Stevie."

"I don't want a pity fuck, Tony. I don't want to sleep with someone just because no one else will have me."

"Well," Tony said quietly, "I was wrong about you needing a helping hand, I guess."

"Yeah, you were."

Tony drove in silence for a few miles. "The thing is, you're pure purity in its purest form. Whoever touches you should know what they're getting, and it should never be 'some guy.' You deserve better than 'some guy.'"

"It wasn't 'some guy'," said Steve quietly, hugging his backpack. "It was Bucky."

"Of all people."

They both were silent until Tony pulled into the parking lot in front of Steve's school. "Be careful, okay, Steve?" he said as Steve opened the passenger-side door. "I really don't want to see you hurt by this guy, even if he is the great Bucky Barnes."

Steve leaned over and kissed Tony's cheek. "It'll be fine, Tony. I'm having such a good time." He climbed out of the car.

***

Friday afternoons, Steve's only class was life drawing. Anatomy was valuable knowledge for a cartoonist, Steve figured -- he didn't want to be one of those artists that people made fun of because their figures were so badly drawn.

Today's model was a young man, tall and lean, with shoulder-length blond hair and a profile like a Renaissance angel. Steve opened his classroom sketchbook and took out a stick of charcoal, and then took out his personal sketchbook as well and opened it to the full-figure nude he had drawn of Bucky, which he tucked behind a sheet of blank paper.

The model stood in a pose that was easy and sensual, one hip cocked and his eyes fixed on one of the walls. Steve got crushes on people easily, the life models in class even more so, and normally a man so lovely would make Steve blush and his imagination race to build a life for them together -- a house with a picket fence and adopted babies and all of it.

This time, he could be utterly objective. He'd much rather draw scars and a teasing smile than the model's smooth skin and carefully blank expression.

He finished the assignment quickly and turned his big sketchpad to a blank page, and began to redraw his sketch of Bucky instead. A naked torso, a lock of hair curling against his cheek, a notepad propped on his thigh so he could scribble some chords -- this was what Steve really wanted to draw, something dynamic and alive instead of carefully posed and still.

His professor was wandering through the class, as he usually did, offering advice and pointing out areas that could be improved. Absorbed in his drawing, Steve didn't notice Dr. Erskine's approach until he said, "You don't like our model today, Steven?"

"Oh," Steve said and nearly dropped the sketchpad. He scrambled to get it balanced against his knee again. "I wanted to work on something more personal today." He flipped the page back to the model's portrait. "I did get the model down."

Dr. Erskine gave him a shrewd look, then picked up the sketchbook and flipped through the pages. Steve pressed his lips together, then said, "They're really rough--"

"Yes," Dr. Erskine said. "Roughly drawn, but very sensitively made. Is the model a friend of yours?"

Steve swallowed. "Yes."

"Many good beginnings here." Dr. Erskine gave the sketchbook back. "Show me your finished product at some point, will you?"

"I will," Steve said and set up the sketchbook on his easel again.

***

Steve took his cell phone from the pocket in his backpack as he was walking out of class, and dialed Bucky's number as soon as he thought no one would overhear him. He wasn't sure who the number would go to -- Bucky had said it was his but Steve thought it might be routed through Phil or Maria first -- and his foot jittered as the call rang through.

He breathed a sigh of relief when he heard Bucky's voice. "Yes?"

"It's Steve. Steve Rogers, from, um, last night?"

"Steve," Bucky said, and Steve closed his eyes and hugged himself at the happiness in Bucky's voice. "Are you done with classes for the day?"

"Yeah, I just got out. What are you up to?"

"We just finished an acoustic set at a radio station, and we're going back to the hotel to have dinner and rest up a little before the show."

"Okay," Steve said. "Well, you wanted me to call, so--"

"How soon can you get here?"

Steve hugged himself tighter. "I'm not sure of the bus route, so I'd have to go home and see if my mom will let me use the car, and then I'd have to drive her to work--"

"I can send a car and my driver."

"Okay," Steve said, and then spotted Tony's silver BMW in the parking lot. "My friend Tony's here. He must have waited to drive me home. Would it be all right if he came to the hotel too?"

There was a pause, and Steve trotted down the steps toward Tony's car. Finally Bucky said, "Well, the thing is I really want to fuck you before the show, and that'll be awkward with your friend along."

"Oh," Steve breathed and grabbed the hand rail, light-headed.

"Steve? You okay?"

"Yes, yes, I'm fine, I'm great. I want that too. I'll have Tony take me home and then if you send your driver there he can get me to the hotel."

"That sounds good. My driver's name is Happy. Look for a big guy with curly hair. He's also my bodyguard because apparently I need one sometimes. He was pretty pissed at me for leaving without him this morning," Bucky added, sounding amused, and Steve heard a voice in the background. Bucky laughed and added, "He says he can't guard my body when he doesn't know where my body is, which is an argument we've had many times before and will have many times again. Anyway, when will you be home?"

"In about ten minutes."

"Okay. Happy will be along in as soon as I can get him out the door. I can't wait to see you, Steve."

"Me too, Bucky," Steve said, and grinned at his phone once he'd hung up.

"You look like the cat that got the cream," Tony remarked when Steve got into his car.

"I'm getting something later," Steve answered. "I asked if you could come, but since he wants to do me before the show--"

Tony groaned and banged his head softly against the steering wheel. "Oh my God, Stevie, you're his booty call!"

"Tony, stop that. You're being melodramatic."

Tony started the car and pulled out of the parking space. "If someone asks you over for the sole purpose of having sex, that's a booty call, young son."

Steve put his feet on the dashboard. "He didn't ask me over just to have sex."

"Are you sure about that? You're not swept up in the novelty of someone famous wanting to get into your pants?"

"Did you sit here for two hours and brood over that?" Steve retorted.

Tony gave him an exasperated look.

"I'm sure, Tony," Steve said. "We didn't just have sex last night. We talked a lot, too. I don't just want him. I like him. I feel like I'm not going to run out of things to say to him for a long time."

"That's better than thinking you're in love with him," Tony said.

"I'm not that deluded. I like him. He likes me. We like being together. It's not anything sordid -- it's just like when you started dating Rhodey."

"Except Rhodey isn't an internationally popular rock star with millions of fans."

"You'd never know it with Bucky. He's normal. He's actually kind of sweet."

"Sweet," Tony muttered. "That's not a word I'd associate with an emo band."

"They're not emo. They're just intense."

"Spoken like a true fan," said Tony with a brittle grin, and Steve smiled out the window, too happy with the world to give Tony's worries another thought.

***

Steve had hoped Sarah would still be asleep when he left to meet Bucky, but she was reading the paper in the kitchen when he let himself into the house. "Hello, dear," she said and he went to kiss her cheek. "Did your class get out early?"

"Hi, Ma," Steve said, eager to get upstairs and change his clothes -- maybe put his sketchbook in his map case again, so he wasn't hauling around his school backpack. "Tony's here for the weekend. He drove me to school and back." He added, "I'm going out again tonight."

"Oh? What are you boys up to?"

"Sam has work, but I think he and Tony are doing something later. I have other plans, actually."

Sarah put down the newspaper and looked at him expectantly.

"I'm meeting up with my friend from the concert."

"Well, if you're planning a big night out, bring him by the hospital. I'd like to meet him."

"I'll ask if he wants to," Steve said, fidgeting with a strap on his backpack.

"If you're dating someone who doesn't want to meet your family, that's a bad sign, honey."

"He's only in town for a couple days. We don't have much time to be together. And I need to go get ready, so--"

"Steven," Sarah said and Steve stopped on the bottom step. "Stop. Talk to me. What kind of boy is he?"

Steve sighed and went back to the table, though he didn't sit with her. "He's from around here but hasn't lived here for a while. He's a little older than me. We met once as kids."

"He's not one of those awful boys--"

"No," Steve said quickly. "No. He actually defended me, that time we met."

"Now I really need to meet him."

"Like I said, he's only in town for a few days."

She got up from the table and patted his shoulder. "Then make it a short visit."

"Ma," Steve said, when the doorbell rang. He flinched, and quickly said, "I'll go get that."

"Is he picking you up?" Sarah said, following him, and Steve sighed and hoped Bucky had come himself instead of sending his driver.

No such luck -- there was a tall, burly man at the door, and he said, "Hi, I'm here for Mr. Steven Rogers."

"Hi," Steve said. "Want to come in for a few minutes? I'm not quite ready."

"Of course."

He stepped inside, and Sarah said, "Hello. You must be my son's new friend."

"My name is Happy Hogan, ma'am. I'm Mr. Barnes's driver."

"Mr. Barnes's driver," Sarah said and gave a pointed look to Steve. "And who is this Mr. Barnes?"

"My new friend is Bucky Barnes," Steve said. "He's the lead singer of the band I saw last night. We met backstage, we talked at the meet-and-greet, and we hung out at the after party. And then I stayed the night with him." He swallowed hard.

Sarah didn't speak for a few moments, a look on her face that Steve had no idea how to read. Happy folded his hands together and cleared his throat uncomfortably.

"Steven," Sarah said, "you're bringing him by the hospital tonight."

"I'm not a kid anymore," Steve began, and Sarah gave him the same stern look she used to give him when he complained about his asthma pills. He mumbled, "Yes, ma'am."

"And you," she said to Happy, "if you're the driver, you're going to see to it that he does."

"Yes, ma'am," said Happy.

"All right," said Sarah and Steve nodded and ran upstairs. He changed his clothes -- a nicer shirt, his favorite jeans -- and threw his sketchbook, a few pencils, cell phone, and wallet into the map case, and then ran downstairs.

"See you later, Ma," he said and kissed her cheek, and let himself and Happy out.

When they were in the SUV and on their way, Steve exhaled slowly and tried to control his mounting excitement. Happy glanced at him in the rear view mirror a few times. "Your mother is very protective."

"She has reason to be."

Happy arched an eyebrow like he expected Steve to go on.

Steve shrugged. "I'm small and gay and this is a conservative town. You do the math."

"I understand."

Steve's mouth twitched in a smile, and he said, "You've known Bucky a long time, right?"

"Going on five years, now."

"Does Bucky do this a lot? Meet a guy and keep him around until he leaves for the next town?"

"Never to my knowledge, Mr. Rogers."

Steve sank into the seat, smiling so widely he had to cover it with his hands. "Never? Really?"

"Really, sir."

"Never," Steve whispered. _Never. I'm the only one_.

***

Still, when Steve was in the hall leading to Bucky's room, surrounded by tour staff and backup musicians and he didn't know who else, he remembered what Tony said and wondered if he was right -- if he was nothing more than easy sex to Bucky, and if everybody involved with the tour knew it. Was that guy smirking at him..?

Steve paused at the doorway of Bucky's room and ran his hands through his hair, and then peeked inside. Bucky's room was full of people having important-sounding conversations. It took Steve a moment to find Bucky, who sat at the desk by a window with Maria as she talked on the phone. His head was propped on his hand and his expression was bored, and he glanced at the door like he'd been disappointed by it before -- and then he saw Steve.

A slow, sweet smile broke over Bucky's face as he lifted his head, boredom fleeing. He said in a voice that was low and commanding, "Everybody out."

Every conversation stopped, and every head turned to Steve. Steve lifted his chin and stepped into the room, confident the order to leave did not include him, and met every gaze that sought his steadily.

Bucky wanted him, after all. Bucky wanted _him_.

The last person to leave the room was Maria. "Remember we need to leave for the arena by seven," she told Bucky, and as she pulled the door closed behind her, she said, "Go get him, tiger," and winked at Steve.

Steve looked back at Bucky, who had stood up from the chair and was silhouetted by the late-afternoon sun. He wore jeans and a white T-shirt, his hair was loose around his face, and the look on his face was gentle and pleased.

"Hi," Steve said. It wasn't the confident greeting he would have preferred -- more breathy and eager, like he couldn't believe his eyes.

In fairness, he couldn't.

"Hi," Bucky replied, and Steve was glad to hear Bucky sounded much the same.

As if they could read each other's minds, Steve yanked the map case from where it hung across his chest as Bucky pulled off his T-shirt. They collided in the center of the suite in a deep, hungry kiss. Steve ran his hands over Bucky's chest and muttered against his lips, "I want you so much, I want you," and Bucky said, "Yeah, yes, want you, Steve," as he tugged off Steve's shirt and kissed him back.

They fell onto the overstuffed couch. Steve shoved down Bucky's jeans and laughed out loud when he found only bare skin beneath, and he curled against Bucky to kiss his stomach and the vulnerable skin over his hipbones. His cock was still soft against his groin, and Steve wanted nothing more than to get his mouth on it.

He'd only gotten in a few licks, enough to make Bucky's cock start to stiffen in his hand, when Bucky held Steve's head and ran his thumb over Steve's cheek. He muttered a rough, "C'mere," as he ran his hand down the back of Steve's neck. "Take off your pants."

Steve stood in front of him and shucked off his jeans. He'd always hated being naked in front of other people in school -- even if they didn't say anything they'd take in his skinny body with judgmental eyes -- but Bucky looked at him with hunger and lust, as if his body was perfect. Bucky traced his fingers over Steve's chest and stomach, and then gave his hip a tug. "There are so many things I want to do to you I don't know where to start."

Steve straddled Bucky's hips and framed his face in both hands. He kissed Bucky, trembling at the way Bucky's tongue explored his mouth, and then leaned their heads together. "We don't have much time if you need to leave soon."

"Yeah," Bucky said, his voice still rough. He arched his hips. "There's lube in my back pocket. Will you get it?"

His eyes never leaving Bucky's, Steve slid his hand into Bucky's back pocket. He gave Bucky's ass a squeeze before pulling his hand out.

"Lube up both our dicks," Bucky murmured as he kissed Steve's chest. "Jerk us off."

"Good Lord," Steve murmured, lightheaded, trembling so hard that it took multiple tries to get the tube open.

"My fingers, too," Bucky said, holding out his hand, and Steve dripped lube onto his fingers.

"What are you planning to do with these?" he whispered as he tossed the tube aside.

"Make you see stars," Bucky answered, and then his head dropped back as Steve wrapped his slick hand around them both and began to stroke.

"Sure about that, are ya, smart guy?" Steve said, and then dropped his head to Bucky's shoulder and groaned as Bucky's hand reached behind him and a finger sank in. Steve's hand faltered, but then he gripped Bucky's waist and kissed his chest, and thrust against Bucky's cock as Bucky's fingers stroked inside him. They didn't kiss but watched each other instead, and somehow that was so much hotter, their breathing harsh, their moans quiet, their eyes half-closed and yet their gaze never breaking.

Finally Bucky groaned, "Steve, fuck, Steve," and his fingers twisted into Steve deep. Steve grasped the back of Bucky's neck as Bucky writhed and arched, and his head fell back and sounds were coming out of him, loud and unfettered, and his hand was covered in a hot wet mess and he slumped against Bucky's chest.

He was reluctant to stop touching them, but it was approaching too much for himself and he figured it was the same for Bucky. He unwrapped his hand slowly and brought it to his lips. Bucky grew quiet beneath him, his chest heaving, his eyelids lowered and his lip bitten red, and he made a sound deep in his chest when Steve's tongue darted out to taste his hand. "Shit, Steve," he whispered and he stroked Steve's arm with the backs of his fingers.

Steve just smiled at him and tucked himself against Bucky, his head on Bucky's shoulder. Bucky stroked his back in silence.

"Fuckin' day," said Bucky at last. "Two interviews and the acoustic show at some radio station, and all I could think about was how to get you back here. Clint's so pissed at me for missing my cues that he said if you didn't call me he would."

"Sorry," Steve murmured.

"Not your fault. It was a shitty day."

Steve lifted his head to look at him. "Do you feel better now?"

Bucky gazed at him a moment, then smiled faintly and said, "Yes."

Steve held Bucky's face and kissed him, and whispered, "So do I."


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> There's a fine line between the sacred and the profane.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Bucky gets a little blasphemous in this one.

As Steve washed his hands and stomach, he glanced up from the sink to see his reflection in the mirror. He was used to seeing himself flushed with fever or exertion -- it was quite something else to see himself rosy-cheeked, almost glowing. _This is what happiness looks like,_ he thought, and then flicked water at the mirror and went back to Bucky.

He paused to appreciate the sight of Bucky sprawled on the sofa -- his long legs and slim hips, his arm curled over his head, his hair soft and scattered around his face, his cock soft along his thigh. Steve would draw this if they had more time, but for now he climbed onto the sofa and curled against Bucky, his head on Bucky's chest.

Bucky lay his hand over the back of Steve's neck and stroked Steve's hairline with his thumb. "Time izzit?" he murmured, the words slurred with sleep.

Steve looked at his watch. "Five thirty-seven."

Bucky grumbled and shifted under Steve. "Pro'ly should take a shower. Haven't yet today."

"Do you mean to tell me," said Steve, "that you've gone this entire day with _me_ on you?"

Bucky shifted again, and then met Steve's eyes with a faint, embarrassed smile. "Yeah. Oh, stop it," he added when Steve laughingly kissed him.

"You like me," Steve said. "I love how much you like me. I asked Mr. Hogan and he said I'm the first man you've asked to come back."

"Yeah," Bucky said, and Steve kissed him until he laughed and pushed Steve off. "Up. I need a shower," he said as he stretched, rising up on his toes and his arm over his head. "Do you want one?"

"I washed up already," Steve said, wishing he hadn't. He stuck out his legs, trapping Bucky between them, his feet propped on the coffee table. Bucky grinned at him, his hand on his cocked hip.

"Got something to say, Rogers?"

"Nope," Steve said cheerfully. "I just want to look at you one more time."

Bucky raised his eyebrows, the smile fading. "One last time?"

"You fucked me like you wanted. You don't need me anymore."

Bucky managed to frown with his entire face, and blurted, "Come with me."

Steve blinked a few time, his mouth falling open. He closed it and bit his lip.

Bucky said, with an uncomfortable twitch, "I want -- I think -- I want to know you're backstage while we're performing."

Steve started to smile, but still said, "You've performed hundreds of times without me."

"I know." The wryness in his smile seemed directed mostly at himself. "I still want you there."

Steve tugged Bucky to him and Bucky knelt on the couch, balancing with his hand on the back. "Have I mentioned that I love how much you like me? 'Cause I really, really do."

"I really, really like you," Bucky said and dipped his head to kiss him, and they kissed fervently before he pulled regretfully away. "But I also really, really gotta get ready for the show tonight."

"Go on," said Steve, letting him go, and his gaze followed Bucky to the suite's bathroom. Once the door was shut, Steve let himself fall back onto the couch with a loud, "Whoomph!" his hands pressed to his face to keep himself from laughing. He jumped up to get his phone from the map case and call Sam.

"You will never guess where I am," he said when Sam picked up.

"You're in Bucky Barnes's hotel suite," Sam replied. "Tony told me."

"Boo," said Steve, but he laughed anyway. "I wanted to tell you. What did Tony say?"

"That he's worried, that you're in over your head and that Bucky is only going to break your heart or worse -- you know, overprotective Tony things." He said in a more serious tone, "How are you, though, really?"

"Oh, you know..." Steve said casually. "He kicked everybody out so we could have sex on the couch and he wants me to come to the show tonight and watch from backstage. The usual."

Sam burst out laughing. "He _loooves_ you," he crooned.

"Don't be stupid," Steve muttered, blushing, and glanced at the still-closed bathroom door. He said, "Do you think Tony's right? Do you think I'm in over my head?"

"No," Sam said. "I think Tony would be worried whether you two had met in a coffee shop or out jogging--"

"Like I've ever _jogged_."

"Or whatever," Sam said. "But I think you can trust your instincts -- if he were trouble, you'd know it. Bucky is a guy who likes you. He just happens to be famous."

"My mom wants to meet him."

Sam was quiet a moment. "That should be interesting."

"Yeah," Steve said with a wry laugh. He sighed and added, "It's going to hurt like hell when he leaves."

"Probably," Sam said. "But just because you say goodbye, that doesn't mean it's over. It may just mean you're apart for a while."

"Should I hope for that? Or should I let him go when he leaves?"

"It's up to you, Steve."

Steve looked at the door again. "I don't want it to be over. If he wants to keep me then I want to keep him, too."

"Then tell him so. See what he thinks about it." He added in a lower voice, "I gotta get back to work. Talk to you tomorrow, okay?"

"Okay." Steve hung up and put his phone away in the map case. He supposed he ought to dress, too, so he picked up his jeans from the coffee table where Bucky had tossed them. There was an open notebook on the table, pre-printed with guitar chords, and Bucky had filled the entire page with notes. At the top was written "Cathedral," which made Steve both smile and start guiltily, and he shut the book to keep himself from snooping any more.

The bathroom door opened and Bucky came out, scrubbing his hair with a towel. He hung it over his shoulders and Steve had to shake himself to keep from staring at Bucky's naked body as he walked to the bedroom and picked out clean clothes.

"I saw your notebook," he blurted, and Bucky glanced at him as he pulled on his jeans. "I tried not to look much, though."

"You can look," Bucky said. "It's only fair. I've been looking at your stuff."

"You asked permission," Steve said, and wrapped his arms around his legs as Bucky sauntered, his jeans still unzipped, across the suite to pick up the notebook. He flopped onto the couch beside Steve and lay his head on Steve's shoulder.

"You have my permission to poke through my shit as much as you want." He opened the notebook to the latest page. "This is the thing I started last night."

Steve leaned his cheek against Bucky's damp hair. "Do you write songs all the time?"

"A lot of the time. They thought I had learning disabilities when I was a kid because I daydreamed so much -- turned out I just had a head full of music and wasn't paying attention to anything else. Still do." 

Steve flipped through a few pages. He knew what A# or C Major meant, but he couldn't imagine the sound of the notes themselves. "I don't read music well enough to know what any of this means."

"I'll play it for you later." He balanced the notebook on his thigh and put his hand on Steve's knee. "I'd like you to stick around later. Is that cool?"

"Of course," Steve murmured as he gave Bucky's head a kiss, and Bucky exhaled slowly. "Though. Um."

Bucky twisted to look up at him as Steve hesitated. "What?"

"I promised my mom she would meet you. She made Mr. Hogan promise, too."

Bucky groaned and put his hand over his eyes. "I'm really not the meet-the-parents type, Steve."

"She's working tonight, so we wouldn't have to stay long. Just pop into the ER, let her put a face to the name, and then we can do whatever we want for the rest of the night." Steve stroked the inside of Bucky's arm with his thumb. "Please? It would ease her mind so much if she just knows who you are."

"Kiss me," Bucky said, turning his face to Steve's again, so Steve smiled and cupped his cheek and kissed him thoroughly. Bucky whispered, as Steve rested his lips against Bucky's forehead, "I don't know how you did this to me, Steve Rogers, but you got me good."

Steve smiled and gave Bucky a few butterfly kisses with his eyelashes. "You got me good, too, you know. Tell me more about the song. What does the title mean?"

Bucky reached back to hook his arm around Steve's neck. "I read a poem a year or so ago, about a teacher asking his class what places were sacred to them, and the first one to answer said it was his car, because it was where he could be alone and be himself. So I've been thinking about that, I guess -- what makes a place sacred to a person."

"Not a church?"

"Nope." He combed his fingers through Steve's hair. "I've been in a lot of churches, and I have never felt as peaceful in a church as I have with myself with people who mean a lot to me, or on the bus when it's night and we're going through the desert and there's nothing but headlights and darkness, or watching the sunrise from the beach ... hell, I've seen the face of God when I'm fucking someone more often than I have in any supposedly 'holy' place."

"No wonder people think you're blasphemous," Steve murmured.

"Well, it's true." He shifted a little. "There's a certain vocabulary you learn when you grow up in a religious household. I just happen to use it to talk about other things than God."

"Hm," Steve murmured. "So the song is about sacred places?"

"More like it's about peace, where you go to feel peace. Your car or the desert or the mountains or your room -- heh, like 'In My Room'--"

"Beach Boys?"

"Yup. Or that person who just untangles you inside. You know?"

"I know." He wrapped his arms tighter around Bucky and kissed his hair again. 

Bucky said, "When we toured Europe last year I made time to visit cathedrals whenever I could. I think sometimes I caught a little of what churches are supposed to feel like. I think that's where the title comes from. Being inside a holy place, whether it's a stone building or a person who means the world to you."

Steve buried his face in Bucky's hair with a shocked laugh. "You are going to get struck down by lightning, Bucky."

Bucky laughed. "I would have been struck down already, if I were." He twisted in Steve's arms so they were face-to-face. "Where's your notebook? Can I see what you've been working on today?"

Steve snagged the strap of the map case and pulled it closer so he could take out his sketchbook. "I brought my sketches of you to my life-drawing class today so I could work on them for a while. My professor saw them. He said they're good starts."

Bucky picked up the sketchbook and flipped through the many drawings Steve had made the night before. "You wanna make me into art, go for it. What do you do in a life-drawing class?"

"That's the nude model one."

Bucky laughed. "Awesome. Boy or girl?"

"Boy, today. He was beautiful, too. He looked like an angel from a Renaissance painting." Steve curled himself close to Bucky again, so he could easily kiss his neck and hair and watch Bucky look through the sketchbook over his shoulder. "But not as beautiful as you."

"Steve," Bucky murmured and leaned his head against Steve's chest. 

"They're in my big book at home, though. This is just the roughing-out of the big picture I want to do." He opened the sketchbook to the last page. "I'm thinking I'll do it in white pastel on black paper."

"That will look amazing," Bucky said. His eyes were lowered, his lashes casting shadows on his cheeks, but Steve suspected he wasn't looking at the sketch.

"I hope so." He held Bucky's face and searched it anxious until Bucky looked at him again. "It's okay, isn't it? That I use you as a subject? You're an amazing model and I think if I make something really good of you it'll go into my senior project, and--"

"Steve," Bucky said, "it's okay. I'd love to see what you make of me."

"I don't even have to use your face," Steve said. "I can obscure your features or hide your face behind your hair or in shadow."

"Whatever you think is best, Steve. I don't mind if you use my face."

"I don't want to leave out a single scar," Steve said. "Is that okay, too?"

Bucky's mouth worked a moment. "Yeah. That's okay. Your professor didn't think it's weird you're using a one-armed model?"

"He didn't say a thing about it. He's a warts-and-all type of artist -- he'll paint peoples' cellulite and birthmarks and make them just as beautiful as their eyes or lips. A lot of modern art is like that."

"Not just cuss words and tampon sculptures, huh?"

"I think art for shock value is overrated," Steve said. "I'd rather reflect the world at its most beautiful than add to how ugly it can be."

Bucky leaned back against Steve again, his head tucked under Steve's chin. Steve stroked Bucky's bare chest, and thought how lovely it was, how strange and lovely, to feel this comfortable with someone, to know that his touch was not only allowed but desired, and that he could touch Bucky as much as he wanted. 

"And this?" Bucky said softly. "Warts and scars and all of it, this is beautiful to you?"

"Yes," Steve said. "It's honest. I think that's beautiful."

"You are something else, Steve Rogers."

"I like to see things as they can be, I suppose. I like possibility. Potential."

Bucky shut the notebook and put it aside, and pulled Steve's arms around him. "And what potential do you see for us, I wonder?"

"I don't know yet." Steve paused. "I want to keep drawing you for as long as you'll let me. Beyond that ... well, you've got a complicated life. I don't know if there's a place in it for me."

Bucky rubbed Steve's arm. "The thing about fame is -- and this is something no one tells you, you have to learn it on your own -- is that it's really lonely. Your world shrinks when you're famous. Everybody I know either works with me or works for me. My band is made up of people who've been my best friends since I was a kid, and I don't really talk to my family anymore. When somebody new comes along, the first thing I have to consider is what they want from me and whether I want to give it them."

"All I want from you is to draw you and hang out with you," Steve said.

"I hope sex fits in there sometimes, too."

" _Yes_ ," Steve said vehemently, and Bucky laughed.

"Good." He took Steve's hand and pressed it to his chest, and Steve could feel his heartbeat, slow and steady. "You're the first man I've met in a long time that I've wanted to stick around. I thought I'd go crazy with boredom and loneliness with three home-town shows, but I'm not lonely, and I've only been bored when you're not around." He tipped back his head and Steve kissed his mouth, giggling a little at the strange angle. He kissed Bucky's nose, too, and then his forehead, the dip between his lower lip and his chin, his cheeks, his lashes --until he had kissed every inch of Bucky's lovely face. "Stay with me," Bucky whispered as Steve kissed him. "Stay with me, Steve."

"I will, Bucky."

"All weekend. Please."

"I will, all weekend, until you tell me to go."

Bucky sighed and tucked his head against Steve's neck. They rested together, Steve's eyes closed and his arms tight around Bucky's chest, the two of them breathing in time, until Happy came to drive Bucky to the arena.

***

His map case slung across his chest and a backstage pass dangling from his neck, Steve wandered around the dressing rooms and prep rooms as the band got ready to go onstage. The opening act was already playing, and like the night before the crowd's reaction was more polite than enthusiastic -- though the band was good enough that the applause grew louder and longer after each song. 

Steve didn't delude himself that he was somehow part of the band, but he felt much more comfortable backstage than he had at the previous show. He kept out of the way of roadies and everyone rushing back and forth with determined, official looks on their faces, and found himself a corner where he could observe and not bother anyone. He still had to draw this week's web comic, and he wanted everything about the show to be as realistic as possible, so he draw scaffolding and lights and roadies as they carried around speakers or guitars. 

He knew he'd have to do something about meeting Bucky and the rest of the band, too, though he wasn't sure how he would put it. Everything he drew from now on, he knew, would be colored by the fact that he'd had sex with Bucky and was utterly taken with him, and he suspected that would come out even in the simple line drawings of the comic. 

If it were a porn comic, he thought wryly, instead of a diary comic, he could make use of it better -- though he supposed a black panel captioned with something like "Use your imagination here" would get the message across.

Or he could just close the door on the after party and leave it at that. _He_ knew it had happened. His readers didn't need to know it had.

Steve was so absorbed in drawing that he didn't notice the young woman beside him until she boosted herself onto the same piece of scaffolding and said, "It's fascinating, isn't it? Everything they have to do to get the show ready?"

"I'm learning a lot," Steve said, closing the sketchbook. "I never thought much about what goes on behind-the-scenes at a concert until I was actually here. Steve Rogers," he added, and she smiled at him. She was remarkably pretty, with rich brown hair falling down her back and a sweet smile.

"Jane Foster. I'm dating Thor."

"Hi. Were you here last night? I don't think I saw you around the--" He stopped himself, blushing.

"I know who you are," Jane said, still smiling though it had taken on a teasing note. "Bucky's only mentioned you about twenty times since I got here. I just flew in this afternoon."

"And Bucky's told you about me already? Wow."

"He's twitterpated," Jane said, swinging her feet. "Not that it's a bad thing. I like him and want him to be happy."

"Is this where I get the 'hurt him and I'll kill you' speech? No one's given me that yet."

"No one will, I think," Jane said. "I think they like you. Even Natasha, and she doesn't like anybody unless she loves them. But Bucky's a grown man. He can take care of himself." She looked at Steve. "I'm a little more concerned about you, really."

"I'm nineteen," Steve mumbled, picking at the rubber bottom of his sneaker. "I'm not exactly a kid, myself."

"Are you ready for this, though? It's not easy to date someone you hardly see."

"I don't know if you'd call it dating just yet." He paused, studying her. He had an image in mind of a rock star's girlfriend, fed by _Spinal Tap_ and _Almost Famous_ , and she was nothing like any of the women from the movies. She wore just jeans and a simple cotton blouse, no makeup as far as he could tell, and no jewelry except gold studs in her ears and ring on the middle finger of her right hand made of dark metal and lined with what looked like stone. "How do you deal with it?"

"Skype," she said. "Lots of texting and phone calls, and we visit each other whenever we can. I'm on Spring Break so I flew out to join him for a week. I'm getting a PhD in astrophysics," she explained, and held up her hand to show her ring. "Thor got me this -- it's made from a meteorite."

"That's so cool. Is it a promise ring?"

"Sort of?" she said, looking at it. "It's a promise-to-promise ring, I suppose." 

"I like it. I'm in art school," he added, and showed her the notebook. "I'm thinking some of this is going to make its way into my senior project, when the time comes. There's still a way to go."

"Thor showed me the picture you drew of him. Can I see more?" Jane said, so Steve showed her the sketches he'd drawn the night before, and they were talking about how difficult it was to learn perspective when Phil Coulson stopped in front of them.

"Steve, can I pull you away for a few minutes? Bucky wants you."

"Excuse me," Steve said to Jane and hopped down from the scaffolding. "See you later." He followed Phil through the backstage to the dressing room, where a makeup artist was carefully lining Bucky's eyes in black while a hair stylist was running her hands through Bucky's hair and making "tsk, tsk" noises.

"There you are," Bucky said, grinning at Steve. "Choose what I should wear tonight, will you? I can't decide."

"What are the choices?" Steve said, and so Phil directed him to a rack of clothing -- black and more black, enough to make Steve smother a smile and wonder if it was just an excuse to get him into the dressing room.

He paged through the clothes --T-shirts, silk shirts, jeans, leather pants, mesh tank-tops -- and finally selected a pair of leather pants and boots that buckled up the calf. "This," he said to Bucky, holding them up. "With no shirt."

Phil cleared his throat and the two stylists looked at each other. Bucky turned in the makeup chair, frowning, and got up to take the pants and boots from Steve. He turned back to the mirror, holding them against himself. 

Steve said softly, "You're beautiful, you know. You're art."

One of the stylists said, "We have some necklaces that would look good against your skin. Dog tags, maybe?"

"Dog tags," Bucky said. He looked at Steve. "Hairy chest and everything, huh?"

"And everything," said Steve, his eyes fixed on Bucky.

Their gaze only broke when Phil said, "Well, this is a first. I can't wait to see the videos that make it to Youtube."

"Even _Rolling Stone_ couldn't get me shirtless," Bucky said as he draped the pants over an empty chair. "I hope you realize you have more clout with me than the oldest music magazine around."

"I realize it," Steve said, though he hadn't until that moment. "I promise not to abuse it." He perched on the chair and watched Bucky get into his makeup chair again to let the stylist finish his eyes. He said quietly, "So many of your songs are about self-acceptance, I thought--"

"Sometimes I write songs about things I need to work on myself," said Bucky. "Letting fifteen thousand people see me like that is not the easiest thing ever."

"I'll choose a shirt if you really want."

"No, I'll do it." He paused a moment to let the makeup artist do under his eyes, and the stylist brought over a collection of necklaces -- leather, silver, gold, wood, hemp --for him to choose from. "Annie Leibovitz has asked to do a shirtless portrait of me. I think I'll tell her yes." He glanced over his shoulder as a wave of applause sounded from the arena. "Sounds like the opening act is a hit."

"Good," Steve said. He leaned back in the chair and closed his eyes.

***

The Friday night show went much the same as the Thursday night one, except when they brought out the acoustic instruments a piano was among them. Natasha and Bucky sat on the bench together and Bucky said into the microphone, "Welcome to Winter Soldier's Cover Extravaganza. Nat's going to help me with this one," and they smiled at each other. 

"In exchange for the right to mock you forever for your role models," Natasha said, and Bucky laughed and gave her an affectionate shove with his shoulder.

"Just play the song."

She began to play soft minor chords, and Bucky sang. 

  
_Nothing about you typical_   
_Nothing about you is predictable_   
_You've got me all twisted and confused_   
_It's all on you…_

While he didn't look backstage this time, Steve pressed both fists to his mouth and smiled broadly behind them, and Jane said to him, "Britney Spears, who knew?" with a soft smile of her own.

  
_Baby, you're so unusual_   
_Didn't anyone tell you you're supposed to_   
_Break my heart, I expect you to_   
_So why haven't you?_

There was some confusion in the audience, as if a pop diva had no place in a Winter Soldier concert, but then the lighters and glowing phones began to appear over audience members' heads, and when the chorus came around again the area was filled with voices carrying the tune.

  
_Baby, you're so unusual_   
_Didn't anyone tell you you're supposed to_   
_Break my heart, I expect you to_   
_So why haven't you?_

"Now I am worried about Bucky," Jane murmured, and Steve had no idea what to say to that except that maybe Tony was right -- they were both in over their heads.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Bucky's performance of "Unusual You" is inspired entirely by [this one](http://youtu.be/tMei3UfLSmo) by Chris Salvatore.
> 
> The poem Bucky refers to is ["The Sacred"](http://writersalmanac.publicradio.org/?date=2009/11/08) by Stephen Dunn.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Kindness costs nothing and can have unexpected rewards.

At the meet and greet after the concert, Steve set up a chair in a corner where he could draw. He had an image in mind -- Bucky with his arm over his head, holding the microphone to catch the crowd chanting the chorus of "Battering Ram" as he stomped his foot -- and he wanted to get it down as soon as he could.

More fans had purchased passes for the meet and greet tonight than the night before, and the room was noisy as they waited their turns to take pictures and get autographs. Steve stopped drawing long enough to watch how the band worked this side of fame -- how their smiles were friendly but professional, how they kept interactions brief but friendly, and how they put their arms around trembling fans to reassure them and pose with them for pictures.

After an hour or so, Jane joined him in the corner. "I always feel a little strange at these things," she said as she took an e-reader out of a woven bag hanging over her shoulder. "I never really know how to act. I don't want to hover but I don't want to say, 'Have at him!' either."

"I know what you mean," said Steve. "I love how they adore him, but --" He watched the fans around Bucky, and Bucky glanced his way and caught his eyes. Steve smiled, shy, and Bucky smiled back, small and happy. Steve whispered, "But I want him more."

Jane smiled at him in understanding. "I can't remember the last time I saw Bucky so happy."

Steve bent his head over his sketchbook again, worried that everyone in the room would read all of his feelings for Bucky in his face. "Have you known him long?"

"Not as long as they've known each other, but for a while. They played a club at my college, ages ago, and when I saw Thor it was like seeing the face of God."

"I've heard Thor wrote 'Pearl' about you. I like that one a lot."

"It is," she said quietly, a soft look in her eyes.

"Bucky's never really written a love song, has he?"

"Not that I know of. I don't think he gives much thought to romance." Jane paused. "There was someone, and maybe still is, I'm not sure, but I don't know much about it."

For a brief flash Steve felt nauseous, and he whispered, "He's dating someone?"

Jane said carefully, "I wouldn't go so far as to call it dating. Just, as long as I've known Bucky, there's always been someone in the background. I've never seen him get serious about anybody, and this other man is probably why."

"He did say I was just supposed to be a distraction." Though that didn't help the vague unease Steve had at the notion he was Bucky's piece on the side.

"He really likes you," said Jane. "I've been to a dozen Winter Soldier concerts over the last few years, and I've met quite a few handsome boys waiting for Bucky backstage. Bucky has never talked to me about any of them the way he talks about you."

Steve nodded, blushing a little at being grouped in with Bucky's other handsome boys, and caught Bucky's eyes again. Bucky smiled, questioningly this time, and Steve smiled back and nodded to reassure him.

He held up the sketchbook to show Bucky what he was working on, and Bucky's grin grew. He murmured, "Excuse me," to the fans around him and crossed the room to Steve. Without a word he took Steve's face in his hand and kissed him thoroughly, making his band mates laugh and some of the fans gasp while others cheered.

Steve stood, sketchbook and pencil falling to the carpet, and slid his arms around Bucky's neck. The kiss grew deeper as Bucky's hand slid down Steve's ribs to his waist to his ass, and it was all Steve could do not to hop up and wrap his legs around Bucky's waist. He wanted to grind against him, take Bucky's cock between his hands or his thighs and let Bucky take his post-performance energy out on Steve's eager body.

When they parted -- Steve gasping for breath -- Bucky squeezed his ass and pressed their foreheads together and said, "I am going to _fuck you_ ," in a tone that made Jane giggle and Steve blush and shiver and cling tighter to Bucky, lightheaded with anticipation.

Someone grabbed Steve's shoulder and yanked him away with a, "Quit groping him, you _shit,_ " and an arm across Steve's chest.

Steve grabbed on the man's arm, ready to tear him apart for interrupting such a delicious moment -- and then said, " _Tony_?"

Tony glared at Bucky over Steve's shoulder, his arm slung over Steve's chest like a bandolier. Maybe he had been there and Steve had been so preoccupied with Bucky that he hadn't noticed, but it was more likely that Tony had walked into the meet-and-greet just in time to see Bucky kiss Steve, and drew all the wrong conclusions.

"Don't you _dare_ talk to him like that," Tony growled at Bucky, who just looked bewildered.

"Who the hell are you?"

"You are not going to treat him like he's some kind of _groupie_."

"Hey!" someone said, offended, but Tony only went on glaring at Bucky and Bucky's eyes narrowed as he glared back. Phil's phone was to his ear, his expression worried, and all three of Bucky's bandmates were on their feet, as if ready to be Bucky's bodyguards in Happy's absence.

"I treat him just fine," Bucky growled in return. "He's not a child."

"He's not your whore, either," said Tony as he stepped around Steve and crowded Bucky's space, and Jane got out of her chair too.

Steve said, his hand on both Tony's and Bucky's arms, "You two want to whip out your dicks and measure them some other time?"

Bucky relaxed first, his gaze still on Tony. "Your friend is a real charmer, Steve."

"Bucky Barnes, meet Tony Stark," Steve said. "I'd say he's usually much less of an asshole but I'd be lying." He grabbed Tony by the lanyard around his neck and tugged him away, saying, "Come with me," as he dragged Tony into the bright hallway. He pushed Tony against the cinderblock wall and said, "What the hell, Tony? What the hell?"

"Who the hell is he to talk to you like that?"

"A guy who is going to fuck me," Steve snapped. "A guy I _want_ to fuck me. For God's sake, Tony, you don't have to look out for me!"

"Somebody has to, you don't!" Tony shouted.

"I don't want it to be you!"

Tony sagged against the wall. "Dammit, Steve."

Steve crossed his arms and set his jaw. "Did you come here just to make a nuisance of yourself?"

"I wanted to check him out," Tony said. "Make sure he's not treating you bad. I'm not convinced he isn't."

"I'm not complaining, you ass. He's not treating me bad. He treats me great. You coming in here like you're the virgin avenger just makes you look ridiculous."

Tony shook his head, frowning. "I needed to know you're okay."

"And you couldn't take my word for it."

"You are so inexperienced, Steve!"

"I'm not so inexperienced that I can't see when someone is using me!" He stepped closer to Tony, holding him by the shirt. "You don't have to worry about me. I'm happy. I'm so happy. If I weren't happy, I wouldn't be here no matter how famous and hot Bucky is. I'm not here because Bucky wants me -- I'm here because _I_ want _him_."

There was a soft, "Oh," and Steve looked back to see Bucky standing in the doorway, Steve's sketchbook in his hand. He had yet to put a shirt on, and Steve thought that the power Bucky's lean, strong body had exuded all night was now replaced by something much more vulnerable.

He let go of Tony's shirt and held out his hand to Bucky, and Bucky crossed the hall and gave Steve the sketchbook so he could take it. "You okay?"

"Yeah," Bucky said to Steve. He said to Tony, "I don't need your approval. But Steve does."

"I don't need anyone's approval," Steve said.

"There," said Tony to Bucky. "You see? This is what you're in for, buddy. This is what caring about him is like -- always trying to save him from himself."

Bucky looked at Steve. "Yeah, I'm starting to get that."

Happy appeared in the hallway at last and strode up to them. "Phil said--"

"We're leaving," Bucky said and pulled Steve along by the hand. "We're going."

Happy looked at Tony uncertainly and then followed Bucky and Steve, first to the dressing room so Bucky could grab a jacket and shirt, and then down to the parking garage beneath the arena.

***

It had begun to rain during the concert. As the long line of cars waited for the traffic light to turn green, Steve watched groups of fans, huddling under umbrellas or jackets held over their heads, scurry to the light rail station or the event parking lots around the arena.

"Music, Bucky?" Happy said.

"No, not tonight," said Bucky, and so the only sounds in the SUV were the taps of raindrops on the windows and the tick of the turn signal.

Steve said, "I'm sorry about Tony. He had no right to be -- like that."

"He's your friend. It's good to have friends to form a wall around you when you need one."

"Not when it keeps people out that I want in." He looked at Bucky -- Bucky was wearing a faint, wry smile that Steve had drawn a dozen times and thought he would happily draw a hundred more. He took Bucky's hand and kissed his fingers. "Do you want to go back to the hotel?"

"Yeah." He inhaled. "I've gotta unwind, Steve, I've got to get it out somehow or I feel like I'm going to blow."

Steve whispered, "That's what I'm here for," and unbuckled his seatbelt so he could climb onto Bucky's lap and hold his face. He kissed Bucky, feeling like it was an answer to every promise Bucky's kiss inside had made. He wished Bucky were shirtless still, so he could run his hands easily over Bucky's bare chest, his fingers catching on Bucky's curling hair, following the lines of his muscles.

"Steve," Bucky sighed and wrapped his arm around Steve's waist to pull him closer. They kissed, sweet and hot and slow as a summer afternoon, as the SUV inched forward, waiting its turn.

After a few minutes, Happy cleared his throat. "What?" Bucky said impatiently and Steve pressed his face against Bucky's neck to muffle his laughter.

"We did promise Mrs. Rogers that'd we'd come by the hospital after the concert."

Steve sat back on his heels. "I'd rather not break a promise to my mother."

Bucky thumped his head against the seat. " _Fine_. Which hospital is it, Steve?"

"Riverside General," Steve said. He moved back to his side of the seat and re-buckled his seatbelt.

"Turn left at the light and left at the next one." Bucky looked at Steve. "That's where they took me after my accident."

"Will you be okay there?"

Bucky snorted. "I'm not a fragile flower, Steve."

"Never said you were." He reached over for Bucky's hand, and Bucky gave it with a sigh.

"Your mother is not going to like me, so don't get your hopes up about that."

"It would probably help if you washed your face." He wiped at Bucky's smeared eyeliner with his thumb. "Though if you wanted to stop by the children's ward, I bet they would love to see you like this."

"Post-concert sweaty and strung out?"

"It makes you look like a rock star." Steve sat back. "But it's late. The kids are probably asleep, anyway."

Bucky was quiet as the car inched forward a few spaces. "Do you go there a lot?"

Steve nodded. "I volunteer sometimes. Read in the children's ward or clean up bedpans, whatever needs doing. I mean, I can't go everywhere, obviously -- I can't go into the infectious disease ward 'cause I'm vulnerable to everything -- but I do what I can." Bucky looked out the window, holding Steve's hand, and Steve added softly, "I think my mom will like you. I like you. That goes a long way with her."

Bucky grunted and went on looking out the window. As uncomfortable as it was with a seatbelt on, Steve lay his head on Bucky's shoulder. Bucky patted his cheek, and muttered, " _Finally_ ," when the SUV began to move.

***

Beverly was at the front desk tonight. "You're just here for a visit tonight, baby?" she said when Steve stopped at the reception desk.

"I am. Have you seen my mom lately?" He leaned over to kiss her cheek.

"She's with a patient right now. I'll tell her you're here." She eyed Bucky and Happy, and Steve supposed they made an odd picture -- himself in jeans and a button-down shirt, Bucky in leather pants and jacket, Happy on his suit.

"I brought some friends to meet her. Bucky and Happy, this is Beverly."

"Hello, ma'am," Happy said, and Bucky smiled like he wished he were anywhere but here. Beverly gave him a particularly skeptical look, and Steve supposed the eyeliner didn't help Bucky blend in any more than the leather.

"Steve!" someone called from down the hall, and Steve grinned as his usual doctor came toward them, hair rumpled and scrubs askew, looking more like a frazzled intern than a respected physician.

"Dr. Banner, hi." They shook hands heartily. "Bucky, Happy, this is Bruce Banner. He's saved my life more times than I can count."

"Hello," Bucky said, still looking like he wanted to leave.

"Hi," said Bruce and out his arm around Steve's shoulders. "Your mom is in 10. She should be done in a few minutes." They started down the hall. Bucky stood still for a moment, then in a few quick strides caught up with them. "She said you were going to a concert tonight. How'd it go?"

"Pretty good," said Steve. "I brought the lead singer with me."

"No kidding?" said Bruce and looked at Bucky. "You're a singer?"

Looking even more uncomfortable, if that were possible, Bucky said, "Yeah," and reached for Steve's hand. Steve ran his thumb soothingly over the back.

"The band's called Winter Soldier," Steve told Bruce.

"I don't keep up with current music much," said Bruce. "I still mostly listen to Springsteen. But hey, nice to meet you anyway. Good luck."

"Um," said Bucky. "Thanks."

Bruce said to Steve, "Would you rather wait for your mom in the break room or the waiting room? It's not too busy tonight."

"The break room," Steve said. "I don't want Bucky to draw unnecessary  attention."

Bruce glanced at Bucky and smiled to himself. "I'll let you mom know you're here. Go on, Steve."

"See you, Dr. Banner." He led Bucky by the hand to the staff break room.

Bucky murmured, "A building full of beds and we're going to the _break room_."

"We can find a bed later," Steve said. "After you meet my mom."

One intern was asleep in the break room, sprawled awkwardly over a chair. Steve led Bucky to another corner and Happy took a chair a few feet away so he could read the newspaper someone had left.

Bucky dropped into a chair with a deep sigh, and Steve grinned and climbed onto his lap. He slipped his arms around Bucky's neck and kissed him.

"What are you doing?" Bucky said, pulling away.

"It's called kissing," Steve said. "It's something people do when they like each other a whole lot."

"Ha, ha. I don't think your mom would want to see you like this."

Steve sighed and held Bucky's face in his hands. "Bucky," he said seriously, "my mom knows I'm gay."

Bucky met his eyes. "There's a difference between knowing your child's gay and dealing with the reality of it. Have you ever brought anyone to meet her before?"

"Tony," Steve said, "but we never dated."

"Ah," Bucky said. "Which he regrets now that you're seeing someone. Suddenly it all makes sense."

"He does tend to act like he's my guide to all things fabulous." He slid his arms around Bucky's neck and laid his head on Bucky's shoulder. "Don't make me get up. You're comfortable."

Bucky's arm came up slowly to wrap around him. Smiling, Steve closed his eyes, humming happily when Bucky stroked his back.

"I hate to disrupt you," said Sarah, and Steve grinned up at her. She stood in front of Bucky with her hands on her hips, smiling at them expectantly, and Steve unwound himself from Bucky's embrace and got to his feet.

"Hi, Ma. This is Bucky Barnes." Steve tried not to sound too eager, though he bit his lip as he waited for Sarah's reaction.

Bucky got up from the chair too and shoved his hand nervously through his hair. "Nice to meet you, ma'am."

There was a pause as Sarah took him in, and Steve supposed if Sarah could have chosen anyone for him it would not have been this long-haired man in leather and eyeliner. But then she smiled and said, "It's so lovely to meet you, Bucky. Steve is such a big fan. He's told me so much about you."

Bucky dropped his head, hiding his face behind his hair, and murmured, "I hope not _too_ much, Mrs. Rogers." Steve took his hand again and wove their fingers together, and Bucky exhaled.

"Steve mentioned you grew up around here," said Sarah.

"Yes'm. My family lived on Kingstree Street until a few years ago. James and Deborah Barnes."

"I remember them," Sarah said, though she didn't sound particularly pleased about it. "Oh -- that's right, you're the boy who had that terrible car accident. I remember hearing about that, too. Are you all right? Are you recovering okay?"

"Yes'm. I'm okay." He glanced at Steve and Steve grinned back, happy that Bucky's fingers were relaxed in his hand.

"Bucky has asked me to spend the weekend with him," Steve said. "So I'll see you Monday."

"Steven," Sarah began.

"You have my cell phone number. Call me if you get worried." He put his arm around Bucky' waist. "We'd like to get on with our evening plans."

Bucky said quietly, "We could stay a little longer," and pressed closer to Steve.

"Good," said Bruce from the doorway, "because I have a huge favor to ask."

Bucky looked uncertain again as Bruce came to them. "What kind of favor?"

"There's a girl named Darcy who's been in a coma for almost a week," Bruce said. "Her family has been reading to her and playing music, and the band they play most is Winter Soldier. I thought I'd heard of you before -- it just took me a few minutes to realize where. Would you come and talk to her? Maybe even sing?"

Bucky swallowed and then gave a short nod. "Does anyone in the hospital have any instruments? Preferably a piano."

Bruce smiled. "I think one of the surgeons has a guitar."

"I can work with that."

"Sarah, will you take them to Darcy's room while I hunt that down?"

"Sure, Bruce." She nodded to the hallway. "Come on, boys."

They followed her through the hospital to the ICU wing. Sarah stepped into the room first, and then came back out and said, "Darcy's mother is here. She said it's all right for you to come in."

Bucky looked at Steve, and at Steve's nod he squared his shoulders and went into the room, Steve following close behind.

The girl's room was full of balloons and flowers, Get Well cards and stuffed animals. Her mother looked like she hadn't slept for days, but she still managed a smile when she got up from the chair. "Mrs. Lewis, this is my son Steve," Sarah said, "and this is his friend Bucky Barnes. He's in the band Darcy likes."

"Hello," Mrs. Lewis said. "Her sister has been saying that playing the music helps." She looked at the small, pale figure in the bed. "Nothing has helped so far."

Bucky pulled one of the chairs to the other side of Darcy's bed. Machines surrounded her, monitoring her heartbeat, her breathing, her temperature, other statistics that Steve didn't know. Her head was bandaged and aside from the faint rise and fall of her lungs, she was utterly still.

Bucky looked at her silently for a moment or two. "What do I say?" he asked Sarah.

"Tell her who you are and go from there," Sarah said gently.

Bucky leaned a little closer to Darcy. "Hey there, pretty girl. It's Bucky Barnes. You family tells me you're a pretty big fan of my band, so thanks for that." He paused a moment, swallowing, and Steve rubbed his back. "Your family sure misses you and would like you to wake up." He smiled a ghost of a smile and said, "I'm here to be incentive."

Bruce came into the room with an acoustic guitar, and handed it to Bucky. Bucky held it awkwardly, then Bruce said, "Oh, my God, Bucky, sorry I didn't realize," and took the guitar back. "How do you usually do this?"

"My bandmates tune it for me," said Bucky. "I have a rig to play on stage. But I can do this, just give me a second." He twitched a shoulder and said, "Steve, would you--?"

Steve helped him take the jacket off and put it aside, and Bucky took the guitar again. "You don't play, do you?" he asked Steve. "That would make this a lot easier."

"Only a little piano," Steve said.

"Oh, well." Bucky balanced the guitar on one knee. He gave the strings an experimental strum, and the sound made him smile. "Do you know which song is her favorite?" he asked Mrs. Lewis.

"I don't," she said apologetically. "I don't know your music at all. Her sister would, but she's home, asleep."

Bucky looked over his shoulder at Steve. "Your favorite, then."

"The new one," Steve said.

"You haven't even heard that."

Steve grinned at him. "I have a feeling I'm going to love it. But if not that, play 'Trains.' Every Winter Soldier fan loves 'Trains.'"

"'Trains'," murmured Bucky as he resettled the guitar on his thigh. "Right." He began to beat the guitar with his palm, softly, imitating the bass beat of 'Trains', and after a few bars he began to sing.

Steve stood back and watched him play -- watched him sing with his eyelids lowered, his voice climbing to the high notes and dropping to the low, as his hand kept the rhythm and his foot tapped on the floor, the bed frame, and even his other foot to provide accompaniment.

He looked at Sarah, who listened with her head tilted and her expression thoughtful. She noticed him looking and gave him a small smile, and he moved closer to her to take her hand.

The last refrain ended and Bucky patted the rhythm, softer and softer, until he curled his fingers on the wood and exhaled. "Well, pretty girl, you can blame Steve for that one. I hope you liked it." He watched Darcy, then bent over her and murmured, "Wake up soon, sweetheart," as he kissed her forehead.

"Thank you, Bucky," said Bruce as Bucky gave him the guitar back.

Bucky nodded, looking shy again, and picked up his jacket. "I don't know if it did any good."

"Maybe it gave her good dreams," said Mrs. Lewis softly.

"We should go," Sarah said. "Mrs. Lewis needs to get some rest."

Bucky nodded, his hair curtaining his face, and murmured, "It was an honor, ma'am."

Steve put his arm around Bucky's waist and said, "C'mon, Bucky," and led him into the hall where Happy was waiting.

Sarah said, "Boys, wait," and they paused, looking back at her. She took Bucky's face in her hands and kissed both his cheeks, standing on her toes to reach him. "Thank you for being so kind."

To Steve's surprise, Bucky blushed. "It's nothing, Mrs. Rogers."

"Still, it was a lovely thing to do, especially with Bruce springing it on you like that. Thank you." She said to Steve, "If you're planning to spend the weekend away you ought to go home and get some clothes."

"I will." He hugged her. "See you later, Ma."

"Good night, honey." She stayed in the hall as they walked away, and Steve glanced over his shoulder before they turned the corner and saw she was standing there still.


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Never make promises you don't intend to keep.

Bucky was quiet on the ride to Steve's house. Steve leaned his head on Bucky's shoulder and spoke only when he needed to remind Happy of the directions, supposing that Bucky's post-concert adrenaline was finally crashing. He toyed with Bucky's little finger, smiling when Bucky's finger curled around his.

"Will you come in with me?" he asked Bucky when the SUV pulled in front of his house.

"Sure." He leaned forward. "Ten minutes or so, Happy."

"No problem, Bucky." Happy turned off the engine but not the lights, and Steve and Bucky climbed out of the SUV. Steve led Bucky inside by the hand, and turned on lights as they moved through the house. Because of his allergies, he and Sarah kept the house as dust-free as they could, but Steve was sharply aware of the threadbare area rugs, the pile of unopened bills on the kitchen counter, and the dishes in the sink.

"My room's up the stairs," Steve said. "I'll just be a few minutes, if you want to wait down here."

To Steve's surprise, Bucky said, "Could I see your room?"

"Sure." He started up the narrow staircase, hanging onto the bannister to haul himself along. Bucky followed, and made no comment when Steve was wheezing a little when they reached the top, though his hand found its way to Steve's back. The house was more narrow upstairs than down, with two little bedrooms and a bathroom on the top floor and a master bedroom, kitchen, and living room below.

Steve spent most of his time in his own room, and his walls were decorated with sketches and completed paintings tacked between posters and photos. It was still untidy from when he'd changed clothes earlier in the evening, but at least his bed was made.

Bucky stood in the middle of the room, looking around, as Steve pulled everything out of his school backpack and tried to decide on some clothes for the next two days. "How long have you lived here?" Bucky said.

"Since I was three," said Steve. "Since my mom left my dad. This was my grandparents' house and my grandad left it to her when he died. If you look behind any of the artwork you can still see the toy soldier wallpaper."

"Toy soldiers, huh? I didn't figure you were the toy soldier type."

"My grandma chose it. I've never had the heart to take it down."

Bucky stepped close to the wall and gently turned back the corner of one of the posters. "Huh." He stepped back again. "Where did you get all of the Winter Solider fliers?"

Steve concentrated on folding a shirt. "I used to take one whenever I saw one, back in the day." He gestured to the posters over his bed. "Tony bought me and my friends tickets to the festival for my birthday last year. It was supposed to be my first time to see Winter Soldier live. I ended up not being able to go so they all bought souvenirs for me, posters and T-shirts and even jewelry."

Bucky touched the curling corner of the biggest poster at the center of the collage. "What happened?"

"I had an asthma attack so bad I stopped breathing. I had to spend a couple days in the ICU."

"Does that happen a lot?"

"Too often. My mom is still picking up extra shifts to pay for it."

Bucky frowned and moved to the next collection of pictures. Steve sat cross-legged on the bed, watching him. He was sleek in leather, his hair loosely pulled back in a hair tie Happy had provided from his seemingly bottomless pockets, his eyeliner smudged around his eyes.

There were no sports trophies or team pictures on Steve's shelves. He had prize ribbons from art shows, though, and many pictures of his friends, Timmy and Jim and Monty, Gabe and Sam and Tony, all of them broader and taller than Steve. He could imagine Bucky in those photos, laughing just as happily, holding Steve just as protectively.

Bucky trailed his fingers along a shelf full of biographies of artists and moved on to another collage of artwork. "This is gorgeous, but it's not your style, right? Who drew this?"

"Sometimes my friends on the internet, we do art exchanges or just draw something for each other as gifts."

"They're really good." He turned to Steve. "So you've got art hanging in bedrooms all around the world, do you?"

"More like all around the country, but I've got a few friends abroad, too."

Bucky moved on to the next bookshelf and ran his fingers over their spines -- the entirety of the Harry Potter series, and Steve was not ashamed to have kids' books out in the open -- and then turned and said abruptly, "Could we stay here tonight?"

"Here? You don't want to go back to the hotel?"

Bucky shook his head. "I would really like to sleep with you in your bed."

Steve couldn't stop himself from smiling. "Really? Okay. Okay, we can -- we can do that -- but we should tell Happy so he's not sitting in the SUV all night."

"I'll tell him. I need to get my phone from him, anyway." He kissed Steve quickly and murmured, "Be right back," and left Steve's room.

Steve picked up his phone, wanting to call Sam, but Sam's mother would kill him for calling after midnight. He sent a text instead -- "Bucky is sleeping over at my place tonight and wants me to spend the weekend with him. I may let him pack me into his baggage and take me along for the rest of the tour." That was an exaggeration, but the idea of traveling with Bucky charmed him. It meant Bucky wouldn't have to go looking for other distractions.

Inhaling, Steve paused. In the excitement of dealing with Tony and then bringing Bucky to meet Sarah, Steve had forgotten what Jane had told him -- but it came back now. Bucky's someone in the background, the reason why Bucky only allowed himself distractions and nothing more. If what Jane said was true, Bucky wouldn't be able to keep him around anyway.

He heard the thump of Bucky's boots as he came up the stairs, and Bucky stopped in the doorway and leaned his arm against the frame. "Hey, Steve, can I use your shower?"

The words were out before Steve could stop them. "Are you dating someone?"

Bucky visibly started. "What? No," he said, furrowing his eyebrows. "I was, sort of. It's complicated. What brought this on?"

"Jane said something about it."

Bucky sat on the bed at Steve's side. "What did she say?" he said in a weary tone.

"She said there was someone in the background and she didn't know much about it." Steve wrapped his arms around his legs. "So I need to know if you're cheating on someone with me, because I'm not okay with that."

Bucky put his hand on the back of Steve's head and leaned their heads together. "I'm not cheating on anyone with you. There was someone, for a long time, longer than it should have gone. He's a lot older than me and very persuasive and powerful, and I thought it was real." He shrugged helplessly, his face rueful. "It wasn't. It wasn't real. I wasn't a person to him -- I was just another toy. And now it's over. Satisfied?"

"Yes," Steve said. "I'm sorry -- I just had to know."

Bucky shrugged. "Hey, we've known each other a day. I guess it'd make sense that you don't trust me yet."

"I trust you," Steve said. He put his hand on Bucky's shoulder and turned Bucky towards him. "I trust you." He tipped Bucky's face up and kissed him.

Bucky sighed and scooted onto the bed, and pulled Steve against him. Steve straddled Bucky on his knees, and held his face as he kissed Bucky's mouth and face and throat. Bucky leaned back and made pleased noises as Steve kissed his body, particularly when Steve pushed up his T-shirt and kissed his stomach. He undid Bucky's leather trousers and nosed his way down Bucky's legs, inhaling the scent of leather that lingered on his skin. Bucky was naked beneath them, and when Steve looked up he knew he had to draw this -- Bucky's cock stiffening against his stomach, his arm curling over his head, his shirt rucked up under his armpits -- it was too lovely not to be recorded.

"What?" Bucky murmured, watching Steve through lowered eyelids.

"I want to draw you like this."

"Right now? More than you want to fuck me?"

Steve looked at him a moment more. "No. Almost, but no." He kissed Bucky's lower stomach and slid his mouth down to Bucky's cock. "I've wanted to do this all night." Carefully, he took Bucky's cock in his mouth, aware that he was still learning how -- but he must have done okay, given the way Bucky made a keening noise and grabbed his shoulder.

He looked at Bucky, and lost his rhythm for a moment or two in the beauty of Bucky's face as he moaned and grimaced with pleasure, his lips red from Steve's kisses, his eyes dark as they fixed on Steve's face, the flushed hue to his skin. Steve squeezed Bucky's thighs and took him deeper, trying to maneuver Bucky's cock into his throat and breathe through his nose the way Bucky had done to him the night before, and he groaned when Bucky fisted his hand in Steve's hair.

It wasn't enough air, not just through his nose, and when the head of Bucky's cock bumped the back of his throat and come flooded his mouth, Steve swallowed and choked and had to pull off. He laid his hands flat on the mattress and tried to breathe deeply, and the wheezing sound from his lungs was as loud as a siren in the quiet room.

Bucky's hand stroked soothingly through his hair. "Steve, honey? Are you okay? Where's your inhaler?"

Steve pointed to the map case and crawled further onto the bed as Bucky got the inhaler and gave it to him. Steve had a pull off it and lay back against the pillows as his breathing became less labored. Bucky lay beside him and stroked his cheek.

"Are you okay? Do you need anything more?"

"I'm okay." He held Bucky's hand to his mouth and kissed it. "I'm sorry. That wasn't the best blowjob ever."

"It was good, honey," Bucky murmured, "it was so good," and pulled Steve closer so he could stroke Steve's neck and down his back. "It's more important that you can breathe."

"I'm okay," Steve insisted, but he didn't pull away from the way Bucky was cuddling him. It felt so good to be kissed and touched like this, with his hand on Bucky's chest and his ear over Bucky's heart. Bucky stroked his back and his arm and his cheek, slow and gentle, and he kissed Steve's face and lips.

"So about using your shower," Bucky said, and Steve chuckled weakly. "Wanna come in with me?"

"No, go ahead. I want to rest a little." Bucky nodded, his eyes still concerned, and Steve said, "The shower's at the end of the hall."

"Are you sure you're all right? I can call Happy and we can take you--"

"I don't need to go anywhere." He held up his inhaler. "I've got this. I'm covered."

"I won't be long," Bucky said and yanked off his T-shirt. "Do you have something I could wear? I don't really want to wear leather the rest of the night."

"I think Sam left some sweats here. They should fit you."

"Thanks." He bent and kissed Steve gently, wiping at Steve's mouth with his thumb, and then knelt on the bed and wrapped his arm around Steve, burying his face in Steve's neck. Steve kissed his face. "Hey. Bucky."

"Let me hold you for a little bit."

"I have no problem with that," Steve said and Bucky chuckled against his neck. "I promise I'm okay."

"How many times have you almost died?" Bucky said, lifting his head to look at Steve.

"I don't keep track."

"Really?" Bucky said skeptically.

"Really. There's no point in thinking that way. I'm here." He wrapped his arms around Bucky's waist. "I'm here with you, and I've never been happier."

Bucky's mouth twisted. He kissed Steve and climbed off him. "I'll take that shower. I won't be long."

"I'll be here," Steve said, and smiled to himself as he watched Bucky go.

After a few minutes he got the sweatpants Sam had left behind the last time he slept over, and left them on the bathroom counter for Bucky to wear. He curled on his bed again, the inhaler within reach, and closed his eyes as he listened to the shower run and the rain beat against the windowpane.

***

He stirred when he heard the shower shut off, and Bucky slid into bed beside him, wearing the sweatpants and smelling of soap. He'd scrubbed his face clean of eyeliner, too, and looked much like the teenaged boy Steve remembered meeting on a hot afternoon, seven years before.

"Sleepy?" Bucky murmured, resting his chin on Steve's chest.

"Hm. It's almost two." He ran his hands over Bucky's shoulders. Bucky's skin was damp and warm, and Steve wanted to haul him close and run his tongue along Bucky's collarbones -- but even more he wanted to stay like this, Bucky draped over him like a blanket. "Aren't you tired?"

"A little." He kissed Steve's chest. "I'd like to play the new song for you," he said quietly and rested his chin on Steve's chest again.

"Really?" Steve whispered, smiling.

"Yeah. I want you to hear it before anyone else."

"We don't have a guitar."

"Do you have a piano?"

"Downstairs."

"Perfect."

Steve nearly leaped up, he was so excited, and Bucky laughed at him as he lolled on the bed and got off to go with him. "Do you have your notebook with you? I know you have your phone but I don't know where your notebook is."

"It's at the hotel, but don't worry about it. I've got it in my head enough to play it for you. No lyrics yet."

Steve led him to the piano in the living room. "It may be out of tune. My mother plays it and I play it sometimes, but neither of us play it was much as my grandma did."

"I can make it work." He sat on the stool, embroidered with enormous cabbage roses, and played a few scales on the keyboard. "Usually I have Nat around to help out with the chords."

Steve folded himself on the couch and held one of the throw pillows to his chest. "I'm sure I'll love it."

Bucky smiled at him and began to play.

It was a soft song, simple, hymnal. When Steve closed his eyes he could see the sunlight streaming through stained glass, hear the soft murmurs of prayers -- he could even smell the candles burning before the statue of Mary. And then the tempo changed, became fast and hard, and Steve blushed, remembering what Bucky had said about seeing the face of God. He wrapped his arms around his knees and watched Bucky play -- the muscles of his back rippling under his skin and his hand flying over the keyboard until the song slowed again, gentle as a kiss.

Steve pressed his hands to his mouth a moment, covering his smile, and then said, "That's beautiful, Bucky."

"Thank you. I'm not sure what the lyrics will be yet."

"I'm sure they'll be beautiful, too," Steve said, and Bucky smiled at him. "Do you want to see what I drew today?"

"Always," Bucky said, and took the hand that Steve held out and they went back to Steve's bedroom.

"Here's today's model," Steve said and opened the book to his latest assignment.

"Oh," Bucky breathed. "He's lovely." He tilted his head, frowning. "But your heart wasn't in this one. I'm not sure how I can tell, but I can."

"You're right, it wasn't." He turned to the next page, the full-length nude portrait of Bucky, and Bucky made a soft, surprised sound. "This is where my heart is." He added, as Bucky continued staring at the picture, "This isn't the finish product yet. I'm not sure what medium I want to do it in, or what kind of color scheme. I'm kind of thinking maybe a series, like white on black and then more conventional colors, and maybe a sculpture or two..."

"You really are making me into art." Bucky looked at him with that self-deprecating smile, and Steve leaned over to kiss him.

"You know you're beautiful," he whispered between kisses, as Bucky held his face and kissed him back. "I could draw you and draw you, just like you keep writing about me. I know the new one's about me," he said when Bucky pulled back. "You're not that subtle."

Bucky huffed and kissed him, and then coaxed Steve's head to his chest and cradled it there, his hand framing Steve's ear.

"Bucky?" Steve murmured and Bucky hummed in response. "Why did you need your phone from Happy?"

"So I can call him in the morning and tell him to come get us." He tugged on Steve's earlobe. "Bet you think I want to sext my secret boyfriend."

"Nope," Steve said. He moved Bucky's hand to his mouth and kissed Bucky's palm. "I think you want to call Happy in the morning."

Bucky huffed and stroked Steve's face with slow sweeps of his thumb. Steve closed his eyes, and opened them again when Bucky said, "You don't think I want you just for sex, do you?"

Steve blinked a few times. "I -- I'm okay with it if you do."

"Well, I don't. I like you. I like being with you and I like how I feel when I'm with you. You -- you untangle me. I like that.

Steve turned over so he could kiss Bucky, his face framed in Steve's hands and his elbows planted on the mattress. "I want to be whatever you need," he whispered. "Just tell me what you need and I'll do it. I'll be it."

Bucky sighed and kissed Steve, his hand resting on the small of Steve's back. "Steve," he whispered, "I can't offer you anything right now."

His tone was so serious that Steve sat up, not wanting to distract Bucky or himself with kisses. He said carefully, "Of course not. You're on tour and I'm in school--"

"It's more than that. You remember when you said my life is complicated?" Steve nodded and Bucky said, "It's _really_ complicated. I don't want to bring you or anyone into it, not until I get this thing ... un-complicated."

"Is that why you have a bodyguard?"

"There have been death threats," Bucky said. "I can handle that. I can handle protestors. I can handle --" He paused as wind blew the rain harder against the window. "I can handle anything but something happening to you."

"Nothing's going to happen to me."

"I just saw you nearly strangled by your own lungs, Steve," Bucky said. "And that scared me so much. Can you imagine what would happen if someone found out about you? And I don't mean just one of those people who think they need to kill me to right themselves with God or whatever -- I mean some gossip rag or some blogger who likes to force celebrities out, and the sheer _glee_ they would take in dogging your footsteps and following you to class and camping out at your mother's hospital. That's my life right now, Steve. And I don't want you to deal with that. Or worse."

"I'm not afraid."

"Well, you're an idiot," Bucky said and flicked the middle of Steve's forehead. "I was warned about that."

"Should have listened to Tony," Steve murmured and slid his arms under Bucky so he could lay his head on Bucky's chest.

"Too late for that," Bucky said. "Too late to listen to anybody, I guess." He played with Steve's hair. "We're in trouble, aren't we."

"I don't think it's trouble. It's just like you said. It's complicated." He inhaled slowly. "But if I make things simple for you, then come to me and I'll make things simple, any way I can."

"I think it's trouble. That's the last thing I wanted to bring to you."

"I want your trouble," Steve said. "I can take it."

"Like I said, you're an idiot. But so am I." He sighed heavily, his hand slowly rubbing up and down Steve's back. "I'm falling too fast for you and I know it. But I have honest-to-God never felt this way about anyone in my entire life."

Steve looked into Bucky's face. "What way?"

Bucky gazed back at him, the self-deprecating smile back on his lips. "Like there was a Steve-shaped hole in my life, and now it's full."

"Bucky," Steve whispered, moving to kiss him, but Bucky put his hand on Steve's chest to stop him.

"Tony's right to keep you away from me. I can't be anything good for you. I can't make you promises. I can't give you anything more than this fucking weekend and even this feels stolen."

Steve stroked the inside of Bucky's arm and said slowly, "Then -- then don't make promises. Don't try to be something you're not because you think it'll please me. I won't ask you not to sleep with other people -- you do whatever you have to do to get by. Just --" His throat felt too tight to speak. "Just come back to me," he whispered. "That's all I want. Come back to me."

Bucky muttered, "Shit, Steve," and wiped his eyes with the heel of his hand. "All my life I've wanted this -- someone who just -- who would have thought it would be you? But now that I know you, who else would it be?"

"Bucky, I--"

"No," Bucky said sternly. "Don't make me any promises, either. Just be here when I get back, okay?"

Steve kissed his mouth. "I will."

"Okay." Bucky nodded, his jaw determined, and then drew back and let out his breath. "Damn. Enough weeping and hugging."

"I like the hugging," Steve said, and kissed Bucky as he quietly laughed. He intended to kiss him more, tug off those sweatpants and kiss Bucky's body, but there was a loud gurgling sound from Bucky's stomach and they broke apart, laughing.

"Sorry." Bucky looked at Steve from beneath his lashes. "I haven't eaten since before the show."

"I'll make you something. What sounds good?"

Bucky looked at him thoughtfully. "Something else you don't know about me. I make killer grilled cheese sandwiches."

Steve smiled. "What do you need?"

"Bread, butter, cheese, bacon, and a tomato."

"We have all of that."

"Then let's eat," Bucky said and slid from beneath Steve to get to his feet. Steve stayed on the bed, watching him, until Bucky turned and said, "You coming?"

"I'm coming," Steve said and got up to follow.

***

After they had eaten Bucky's killer grilled cheese sandwiches -- which were very, very good -- and cleaned up the kitchen, Steve opened the window to let in the scent of rain, and Bucky said as Steve crawled into bed with him, "Won't you get too cold?"

"I'm not worried about it," Steve said, snuggling against him. Bucky's arm went around him readily. "You'll keep me warm."

"Damn right I will," Bucky murmured and kissed his hair.

Steve was so sleepy and warm and contented and full, that he spoke before he thought. "I wish I could do this every night."

Bucky chuckled, the movement stirring Steve's head. "Eat grilled cheese at 2 a.m.?"

"Yes. And come to bed to find you already there. Fall asleep with you. Wake up with you." He butted his head against Bucky's shoulder. "Tell me to stop being ridiculous."

There was a pause. "I can't," Bucky whispered. "Not when I'm being ridiculous, myself."

Steve lightly scratched Bucky's chest. "Then let's keep being ridiculous. What do you have to do tomorrow?"

"The third show, that's all."

"Hang around here with me tomorrow, then, until it's time to go to the arena. Let's watch TV in the morning and eat cereal, and you can help me do the grocery shopping. And then what's happening on Sunday?"

"Sunday is our day off." Bucky smiled at him, as sweetly and mischievously as a child.

"Then we'll really enjoy it, won't we? We'll take the day. We'll be like -- like lovers," he decided, "until you have to go. If you can't give me anything but this weekend, then damn it, I want every second of it."

Bucky traced shapes onto Steve's shoulder, his expression thoughtful. "Okay," he said. "It's yours. I'm yours until Monday morning."

Steve beamed and kissed him, and Bucky pulled him closer and returned his kisses, sleepy and gentle. He smelled as clean as the rain, and his skin was warm under Steve's mouth.

"Steve," Bucky whispered, "Steve, honey--"

"Don't," Steve said. "Don't stop me, Bucky, please."

"It scared me, earlier," Bucky said. "Seeing you struggle to breathe like that."

"I know," Steve said. "It's a scary thing. But, listen." He inhaled slowly, and exhaled just as slowly.

"I don't hear anything," Bucky said. "That's a good thing, right?" He slid his hand up under Steve's shirt and kissed him. "Not hearing anything, that's good."

"That's so good," Steve whispered, "so good," and held Bucky's face as they kissed.

It was some minutes later that Steve's lips were starting to feel tender, and he whispered, "Bucky? Remember what you said at the meet and greet? Do you want to fuck me?"

Bucky shut his eyes tight. "Yeah. Yes. Do you have condoms?"

"No. I've never needed to buy them."

"Should have made a stop at the drugstore," Bucky muttered. "Well, it's okay. It doesn't have to be tonight."

Steve nodded and kissed Bucky's neck. "I have lube, anyway, if you want -- with your fingers--"

"You liked that, huh?" Bucky said, his voice low.

"Yeah." Steve's hands were shaking as he smoothed them over Bucky's chest. "I liked it."

"Clothes off," Bucky said and pinched open the buttons down the front of Steve's shirt. "I know exactly what I want to do."

Steve rolled off him and wiggled off his jeans, pulled off his shirt and got his bottle of lube from its hiding place in the back of one of his drawers. "Don't laugh," he warned Bucky, who laughed anyway.

"It's totally not funny," Bucky said solemnly and held out his arm, flapping his hand to draw Steve to him. Steve lay beside him and kissed him, and then popped the lid and prepared to pour lubricant over Bucky's fingers. "Wait," Bucky said. "Not yet. I want to eat you out and I hate the taste of lube."

"You want to--" Steve swallowed and shivered. "Oh."

"Is that okay?"

"Yeah -- of course -- I mean --"

Bucky grinned at him. "You're so cute. Get up against the pillows. It'll be more comfortable for you."

Steve piled his pillows on top of each other and lay on them, his arms around them. Bucky knelt behind him and kissed his shoulder. "I don't know how I didn't notice you were a virgin last night. I guess I just didn't want to see it -- but God, Steve, I love the idea of introducing you to sex. I want to be your first for everything."

"I don't want anybody else," Steve said, tipping back his head, and Bucky kissed him, holding his chin.

He moved down Steve's body, licking Steve's spine and running his hand over Steve's ribs and hips. Steve shivered when Bucky's tongue dipped between his cheeks and circled his hole, and Bucky pulled back to whisper, "Okay, Steve? Should I go on?"

"Yes," Steve said and buried his face in his pillow. He gripped them tightly, not sure what to expect, and opened his legs at a nudge from Bucky's knee.

He gasped as Bucky's tongue slid into him. It felt so much better than he'd ever dreamed -- the slick heat of Bucky's tongue, circling and stroking inside him, good enough to make his body arch and his eyes roll back. He reached back and cupped Bucky's head, and felt Bucky chuckle against his flesh.

"I knew you'd like this," Bucky said.

"Don't stop!"

"Yes, sir," said Bucky with a laugh, and Steve moaned happily as Bucky licked into him once more.

When Bucky's fingers joined his tongue Steve thought he might faint from pleasure. He reached deeper than he had before, touching Steve in a way that made him moan for more, and when a second finger joined the first Steve's fists twisted into the pillow and he shouted out loud.

Bucky draped himself over Steve and whispered in his ear, "I want to do more but I'm worried about hurting you -- but someday, honey, someday I want to fit my whole fist inside you and see how hard I can make you come."

"Bucky," Steve said and knelt up so he could ride Bucky's fingers. He clutched at Bucky's head, and Bucky kissed his neck and sucked his ear.

"Do you want to come like this?"

"I don't -- I don't know --"

"Trust me enough to try something else?"

Steve nodded, and whined in protest when Bucky's fingers dragged out of him. "Where'd that lube go?" Bucky muttered as if to himself, and then found the tube and gave it to Steve. "Pour some in my hand?"

Steve did as he asked, and gasped when Bucky smeared it between his thighs. He poured on more when Bucky held out his hand, and twisted back to watch Bucky rub it on his cock. "How does this work, exactly?"

"Lie flat and I'll show you. On your stomach, legs together."

"I don't think they do this in porn," Steve said, obeying him, and Bucky laughed again.

"No, they do not," Bucky said as he knelt over Steve, and then Steve groaned with surprise as Bucky pushed his cock between Steve's thighs. Like the rimming, it felt better than he thought possible, the friction of the sheets on his cock and the drag of Bucky's cock along his as Bucky found the angle he wanted and began to thrust in earnest. Steve ran his hand over Bucky's hip and into his hair, thighs pressed together tight, body rocking a little to make it as good for Bucky as Bucky was making it for him.

He could feel his orgasm coiling at the base of his spine, and it seemed to him that Bucky was just as close from the depth of his groans and the roughness of his thrusts. Steve shoved his hand into Bucky hair and begged him, "Kiss me, kiss me as much as you can," and Bucky kissed him and breathed hard against his lips until they both were crying out, coming in jets on Steve's stomach and thighs.

Bucky collapsed onto Steve, then muttered, "Shit," and rolled onto his side. He hauled Steve to him, curling Steve into him, and Steve wrapped Bucky's arm around him and tilted back his head so he could kiss under Bucky's chin.

"Sorry about the mess," Bucky murmured.

"'S okay," Steve said. "Worth it."

Bucky grumbled in agreement, and went limp as suddenly as if someone had turned him off. Steve smiled to himself and lay listening to the rain through the open window.

He had a moment of panic that the neighbors might have heard them -- but it was almost three a.m. Anyone else who was awake at this hour was probably having some good sex themselves.

He pulled the blankets higher over them, curled Bucky's arm over him, and fell asleep as completely as Bucky had a few minutes before.


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Don't make promises you don't intend to keep.
> 
> ....unless your intentions change.

During the night, Steve had piled up the pillows behind him so he could sleep sitting up, and Bucky had sprawled over him like an extra blanket. Bucky had barely moved since, it seemed, still covering Steve with his head on Steve's chest and his arm over Steve's waist. His cock was hard against Steve's hip, making Steve even more aware of his own stirring dick, and Steve wondered idly if it was bad manners to start rutting against someone or stroking him off while he was still asleep.

Since he didn't have an answer to that, Steve played with Bucky's hair and listened to the soft sound of rain. The light in his room was the pale gray of a cloudy morning, and it seemed to him that the entire world had shrunk down to rain and his cluttered room, his little bed, the warm man in his arms. The neighborhood was quiet -- no one mowing their lawn or washing their car in this weather, no kids playing outside -- and the house had the still feeling of a household not yet awake.

 _Or home,_ Steve thought as he checked his watch. Sarah usually was back from the hospital by now, but he couldn't hear any signs of her presence, no music or sounds of cooking or even her footsteps on the stairs.

They had the house to themselves for a while longer, it seemed. Steve sighed contentedly and kissed Bucky's hair, glad for whatever time they got.

Bucky stirred and muttered, "Izzit still raining?" as he snuggled deeper into Steve's arms.

"Yes," Steve said. "I love it. It feels so cozy."

Bucky made an agreeable noise and kissed Steve's chest. "Chilly," he remarked and pulled the blankets higher over them.

"I'm okay," Steve said, but let Bucky wrap around him again and sank deeper into the warmth his body generated. "You feel amazing."

With another agreeable noise, Bucky kissed down Steve's neck. His hand framed Steve's face and his thumb brushed over Steve's lips, and Steve closed his eyes and ran his hands over Bucky's back and into his hair. "I was thinking, before I woke up, I was wondering if I should wake you up with a handjob or something."

"Yeah," Bucky murmured against his neck, "you should do that sometime."

"Okay," said Steve and tilted Bucky's face up to kiss his mouth.

They made out, snuggled under the bedding, exchanging kisses that were long and lazy and slow. Bucky's lips were warm and soft, and his skin smelled delicious, like leather and soap and rain. His stomach trembled as Steve ran his hands over it, and sometimes he moved back to just smile at Steve and pressed their noses or foreheads together. 

"I wish I could touch you more," Bucky whispered as Steve stroked his fingers through Bucky's hair and pushed it out of his face. "Most of the time I'm used to not having another hand but damn, Steve, I miss it right now."

"It's okay," Steve said, "touch me any other way you can," and moaned when Bucky moved a leg between his thighs. He rubbed his body against Steve's too, chest to chest, belly to belly, and his lips grazed over Steve's face and returned over and over to taste his mouth.

"I used to worry I was a bad kisser," Steve whispered when Bucky's mouth left his again to kiss along his jaw.

"You're not."

"Oh, good," Steve said faintly. He scratched Bucky's back as Bucky moved down his body. Bucky kissed his chest and tongued his nipples, his hand sliding down Steve's side and over his ribs, and Steve gasped when Bucky's mouth closed over his nipple and gave a short, sharp tug with his teeth.

"Y'okay, Steve?" Bucky said, backing off, and Steve hauled him close again. 

"I'm okay, I'm great," he muttered. "Don't stop."

"Okay," Bucky said, "won't," and really, that was the great thing about Bucky, once he said he would or wouldn't do a thing, he followed through.

***

In the shower, Steve sleepily rubbed the soapy washcloth over the scars on Bucky's chest and shoulder, and thought it was funny how you could become so accustomed to a thing that you didn't see it anymore, and then have it come snapping back into focus -- it seemed to him that he was used to Bucky using his teeth or a hip or his knees as a substitute hand, but when you wanted to touch and caress, nothing made up for not having a second hand.

He looked up at Bucky's face to see Bucky watching him through the thick, dark crescent of his lashes. Impulsively, he kissed the end of Bucky's arm, and then hugged Bucky tight around his waist and rested his head against Bucky's chest.

"I'm really glad you're here," he said quietly. "I'm really glad _I'm_ here, too. Still feels like a miracle somehow."

"I don't know if I'd call it a miracle," Bucky said, his tone thoughtful, and ran his hand through Steve's wet hair. "More like ... things working out to how they should be. Like you should have always been in my life, but you were just out of reach -- only now you're in my reach, you're here, and I --" He stopped and smiled at Steve wryly. "Tell me to shut up when I ramble too much, won't you? I won't mind."

"I like listening to you ramble," Steve said, but kissed him a few times anyway, then turned the water off and took Bucky back to bed.

***

Steve started up when he heard the front door open. Bucky grumbled and stirred, close to waking, so Steve kissed his forehead and whispered, "Go back to sleep," as he slipped out of Bucky's arms.

Hastily, he pulled on pajama bottoms and T-shirt, and scrubbed his hand over his face as he went to Sarah's room. He knocked softly on her door. "Ma?"

"Oh! Steve, it's you. Come in, dear."

He opened the door, to see her sitting on the edge of her bed, still in her scrubs but with her shoes off so she could run her feet over a beaded massager. "You're home late."

"I didn't expect you to be here at all," Sarah replied. "Did you end up not staying the night with your -- with Bucky?"

"We decided to stay here instead." He sat on the edge of the bed with her. "It was a really nice night. He made us grilled cheese for a midnight snack and we talked about some really important things."

"Hm," Sarah said. "I figured you'd be with Bucky so I went out to breakfast with some of the other nurses from the night shift."

"You don't have to wait until days I'm not home to go out with your friends, Ma."

"Well, I know you worry. And sometimes you make me breakfast, and I'd hate to spoil that."

"Pancakes keep if you store them properly." He looked at Sarah. "Be honest with me, Ma. What do you think of him?"

Sarah sighed and brushed her hand through her hair. "He's very handsome...he seems a lot older than you."

"Everybody seems older than me. It's only five years." He added softly, "And he is very handsome."

Sarah studied him with a faint smile. "You like him."

"I do. He likes me, too. I'm still trying to figure out _why_ \--"

"Don't do that, Steven," she said, shaking her head. "People have no reason not to like you."

"This is different," Steve said. "You can have a lot of friends but still not have anybody who -- who wants you." He blushed, wondering how on earth he was supposed to talk about things like passion and desire with his mother, but floundered on anyway. "Nobody's ever wanted me like this. I'm not sure where it came from except our eyes met and that was that."

"Sometimes that's all it takes," Sarah replied.

"Eyes meet and _boom_ , we're together?"

"Eyes meet and _boom_." She paused. "Your father and I were like that. It was like we recognized each other at once, even though we'd never met. I don't say that as a cautionary tale, Steve," she added when Steve started to speak, "because we loved each other very much in the beginning. His deployment changed him. He wasn't the man I married anymore when he came home."

"I'm sure I didn't help, either," Steve said. "A sickly kid--"

"Don't ever think that. Not for one moment. Your father wouldn't accept any of the help that was offered to him. If he had, we would have stayed, simple as that." She glanced at the hallway. "Bucky's not like that, it seems. Even though he's had a trauma of his own, he's not taking it out on other people."

"A lot of their songs are about finding ways to be strong in a terrible world," Steve said. "About saying 'I am not afraid' even when you're terrified. That's what I like about them -- one of the things I like, anyway."

"Like that song he played for Darcy Lewis last night."

"Exactly. Getting up no matter how many times you're knocked down." Steve paused. "He wrote that about me, back when they were still a garage band." Sarah raised her eyebrows at him, and Steve explained, "He and the rest of the band came to my defense one time when I was twelve. That's how I learned about the band, and I've been their fan ever since. I'd still like them even if they hadn't hit it big."

"Well," said Sarah, nonplussed. "That's... I didn't expect that."

"I might even have been their first fan," Steve said. "They started playing clubs not long after that, and then about a year after that they were an opening act for a bigger band at the Fourth of July festival, and that's what got them signed to Hydra Records, their label."

"I know you've been talking about them a long time," Sarah said, "and it's hard to miss your choice of decor, but I had no idea it was so personal for you."

"It is. It's been like watching friends get the recognition they deserve."

"Or your boyfriend's band," said Sarah, and Steve blushed and looked away.

"I think it's too soon to call him my boyfriend," he muttered, digging a toe into the carpet.

"Then what are we calling him, sweetheart?"

"My friend," Steve said. "Just my friend. I'm okay with that." He stood and said, "I'll get the grocery shopping done today, and we'll probably sleep at the hotel tonight."

"Don't worry if you don't get to it," Sarah said. "I'll do it tomorrow, if you don't, since I have the day off. And Steve, call me if you're going to spend the night away, okay?"

"Okay, Ma," Steve said, and went back to Bucky.

***

As he promised Bucky, they had a lazy day, and took advantage of the rainy weather as an excuse to stay inside. They cooked breakfast together and watched a movie while they ate, and spent the rest of the morning lounging on floor cushions in the living room and talking -- about other bands they liked and places they had gone or wanted to go, books they had read or thought the other should read -- and sometimes falling silent, gazing at each other with a happy sort of wonder, brushing their fingers through each other's hair or lightly over exposed skin.

Some of Steve's grandfather's clothes were still in a spare closet, and they found a pair of jeans, a T-shirt, and a pair of sneakers that fit well enough for a trip to the grocery store that afternoon. Bucky pulled back his hair into the elastic tie again and put on his leather jacket, and Steve thought he resembled the many hipster dads in the neighborhood. No one looked at them twice at the store, and Steve let himself imagine that they were an ordinary young couple stocking up for the week. 

Happy picked them up in the evening, in time for Bucky to get ready for the last show. Steve tried to stay out of the way again, watching the roadies and the opening band from backstage, but then Bucky wanted him in the dressing room to once again choose what he would wear that night. This time Steve selected a heather blue T-shirt that brought out the blue of Bucky's eyes and a pair of tight jeans that emphasized the strength of his thighs. Bucky beamed with pride when the makeup artist praised Steve's sense of color.

During the acoustic break, Steve stayed close to Jane again and tried to contain his nerves about what song Bucky would perform. They hadn't talked about the song he'd sung the night before, though Steve suspected there was some hidden meaning that he should know. 

_Or,_ he told himself, _it's just a good song that Bucky likes and he wanted me to hear it because he likes it. People sing for that reason, too._

This time, the roadies dragged out a piano and Bucky sat on the bench alone as Thor and Natasha both picked up violins and Clint got his acoustic guitar. Bucky said, "Last night I met a very special young woman. Some of you might know her -- she's called Darcy, and she's been in a coma for a week." A small group near the stage started cheering, and he smiled at them. "Friends of hers, are you? Then start recording this now, and show her when she wakes up. This song is for Darcy. It's not one we play very often, so bear with us while we remember how to handle string instruments."

"Speak for yourself," said Natasha with a slight smile as she tucked a violin under her chin, and Thor did the same with a grin. Clint began to pick his guitar like a classical guitarist, and Bucky played soft chords on the piano, and Steve clasped his hands together and pressed them to his mouth.

"What song is this?" Jane whispered to him.

"It's called 'Sunrise,'" Steve told her. "It's on the _Miracles_ album. They never play it live." 

It was a quiet, contemplative song, with lyrics that some people said was about regaining faith after losing it and others said was about recovering from addiction. During a radio call-in interview, Bucky had said it was about the kind of night that you think is never going to end, and when it does you feel like you're a whole new person.

One by one, and then dozen by dozen, people held up their cell phones and lighters until the area was aglow with tiny blue and yellow lights. Steve thought Bucky's voice was never so clear and pure as he sang the refrain, "'But the sun is coming up again, and I've got doors to open wide.'"

***

In the SUV after the concert and the meet-and-greet, Steve kept his arm around Bucky's neck as Bucky leaned against him. "That was a really good thing you did tonight," he said quietly as he played with the tips of Bucky's hair. "Singing to Darcy again. That was a good thing."

"I hope so," Bucky said. "I can't get her out of my mind." He paused, and Steve rested his chin on Bucky's hair and watched the raindrops slide down the SUV's windows. Bucky said, "I'm having Phil look into a few ways we can help the Lewis family out."

"Bucky," Steve said and kissed his hair. "That's a wonderful gesture."

Bucky shrugged. "It's the least we can do." He paused again. "I'm having him look into a few ways to help you out, too."

"You don't need to do that."

"Your mother shouldn't have to pick up extra shifts to pay your medical bills, Steve."

"I agree," Steve said, "which is why I have ads on my webcomic site and do art commissions. It's my responsibility, not yours."

"I can't solve all the world's problems," Bucky said. "No one person can do that. But if I can help out the people I meet and the people I care about -- well, let me, Steve."

"I don't want your money, Bucky," Steve replied quietly. 

Bucky laid his hand over Steve's. "Stubborn ass. Maybe I'll do it anyway -- pay your medical bills on the sly."

Steve pressed his lips to Bucky's hair, smiling. "I'd still know it was you."

"Nope. I'll deny it. You must have some other benefactor looking out for you."

"You're a idiot," Steve murmured, wrapping his arms around him, and Bucky laughed and turned his face up for a kiss.

***

The rain finally stopped during Saturday night, and Sunday morning dawned cool and bright, with the kind of clarity in air and sky only early spring can achieve. 

Bucky and Steve had been so tired the night before that they kept sex simple, slow kisses and gentle hands until they both fell asleep. Steve slept soundly until he felt Bucky leave his side. He blinked a few times and rubbed his eyes, and then watched Bucky move around the suite as Bucky put clothes away in his surprisingly small suitcase and checked the drawers for his personal belongings. The sight made Steve melancholy -- even if they had one more day, it was only one day. He didn't want this weekend to be over yet. There was still so much to do together and tell each other. He knew Bucky would be back, but the music festival was months away and there were more legs of the tour before that: six weeks to tour the rest of the country, a month in Europe, and then two weeks in Australia and New Zealand. After July the band would start work on their next album, in order to release it in time for Christmas, as they usually did.

Who knew when they would see each other again, really? And who could say that Bucky wouldn't find someone more suitable to him and to this life than a skinny art student who lived with his mother and still hadn't mastered the art of the blowjob?

Steve sighed, gloomy at the thought, and Bucky turned to him. "Hey, you're awake."

"Good morning," Steve answered and scooted up so he could lean against the headboard. "When are you leaving?"

"Not until tomorrow morning, but I figured I should get everything together anyway. The luggage usually leaves before we do." He came to the bed and stretched out at Steve's side, his head pillowed on his arm. Steve caressed his cheek, wanting to touch him as much as possible while he still could. "Which means we can do whatever we want for most of the day. What do you want to do?"

"Spend it with you," Steve said. "I haven't worked out the details yet."

"I've been thinking about the details. Ever go out to the lake?"

"Not often. The humidity is hard on my lungs."

"I bet the rain cleared away the humidity," Bucky said, "and we can stay above the shoreline as much as you need. We used to go out to the lake all the time when we were in high school -- usually at night so we could have a bonfire, but sometimes we'd go out during the day and have a picnic. This is perfect picnic weather."

"A picnic with your whole band?" Steve said, starting to smile.

"Jane and Happy, too. Maria and Phil if they want to come, but who knows if they will. They may have their hands full with getting the equipment on the road. Well? How does that sound?"

Steve kissed him, holding his face. He tasted like water, and Steve lingered over his mouth, breathing in the scent of him. "Perfect. I'll be ready as soon as I take a shower."

Bucky gave him a quick kiss back and rolled over to take his phone from his jeans pocket. "I'll let Happy know the plans for the day. Hopefully I'm not in for another lecture about how I need to stay in places he can actually guard me." He flipped his hair out of the way and held the phone to his ear, and said cheerfully, "Happy, good morning! Guess where we're going for lunch."

***

It took two SUVs to transport all of them, Bucky driving one over Happy's protests and Clint driving the other, to Lake Bernadette. "We know the way," Bucky pointed out reasonably, so Happy kept his grumbling to a low murmur in the back seat, and when they stopped to pick up food and picnic supplies he stayed close to Bucky's side, even though there was nothing more threatening in the store than barbecue tongs.

In the passenger seat as they continued the drive, Steve told Bucky, "We used to go sometimes when I was a kid, just Ma and me, but we haven't for years. Most of the time it's been at night with my friends, like you did. Most people do."

"Underage drinking and lots of making out," put in Natasha from the back seat. "Half of our graduating class lost their virginity out there after prom."

"The rest of us got to it much earlier," said Bucky with a laugh, and Steve blushed and looked out the window. When his friends found out he wasn't planning to go to prom they'd arranged a date for him with Monty's younger sister, who put up with his clumsy dancing graciously and didn't wince when he accidentally pricked her when he pinned on the corsage. The entire group had gone to the lake when the dance was over, and when he'd tried to kiss Monty's sister she'd said, "But, Steve, aren't you gay?" and they ended up talking for the rest of the night instead.

"Did you go to prom?" he asked Bucky.

"Hell, no. We had a gig that night instead."

"Good thing we went, too," said Natasha. "That's where the music festival booking agent heard us, and the rest is history."

"That's so much cooler than prom," Steve said.

"I've always thought so," said Bucky.

There were picnic areas and jetties scattered all around the shores of the lake, some crowded with picnickers and people taking out their boats and jet skis for the first run of the summer. They chose one of the less-crowded areas and spread their new picnic blankets a few yards up the shore, where they played Frisbee and played their guitars and grilled burgers and corn-n-the-cob in a fire pit, ate apples and chips, and drank water and bottles of iced coffee.

Steve drew them, panels for his diary comic forming in his mind, and thought no one familiar with the band would believe the sight Natasha Romanov turning cartwheels at the water's edge, or Jane riding piggy-back on Thor with her arms spread out, or Bucky and Clint racing each other to fetch the Frisbee when the wind blew it into the water, or even Happy striding along the water's edge with his trousers rolled up and his jacket and shoes abandoned on the picnic blanket. Steve knew this was a rare sight -- intense, gritty Winter Soldier at play -- and thought this must be what they had been like as high school students year before, allowing themselves to relax where no one could see them.

After they ate, they lay on the blankets, nibbling cookies and watching the water birds swoop in the sky. Steve sketched, his head propped on Bucky's chest, and Bucky sometimes ran his fingers through Steve's hair or down his chest. Natasha lay at his side, using Bucky as a pillow too, and she smiled at Steve a few times as she watched him draw.

"What are you working on, Steve?" Jane said as she spread more sunblock on her arms.

"I write a diary web comic, and I'm trying to figure out how to do this week's."

"Bucky mentioned the web comic," said Natasha, and Clint muttered, "Mentioned it a few million times."

Steve sat up so he could look at all of them. "Is it okay if I name names? I can skip over most of the weekend and just talk about the concerts, but I'd really like to tell more. Like this." He gestured around them. "I think people who read it and know your band would like to know how you play, too."

"I'm okay with you using my name," said Jane.

"As am I," said Thor, and Happy and Clint echoed him. Natasha petted Steve's hair a moment, then said, "All right," and they all looked at Bucky.

He rolled his eyes. "He's already making me into art. He can make me into anything else he wants, too."

"Thank you, Bucky," said Steve and kissed him. Bucky huffed but still looked pleased.

"If you go into detail about how we spent the weekend, be kind."

"It won't be much detail," Steve promised. "But I'll be kind."

A few more minutes passed as they dozed in the sun, and then Jane said to Thor, "Let's go for a walk," and they left the blanket and held hands as they ambled toward the shoreline. Natasha stood too and went in the opposite direction, and after a few minutes Happy went down to the water too and joined her.

Clint had brought his guitar, and he started playing "Freebird" until Bucky groaned and threw an apple core at him. Clint ducked with a laugh. "Okay, what, then? We need to figure out the set list for the next show."

"It's not for days."

"Two days. And you may never need to rehearse anything but I do, so tell me what song we're playing acoustic on Tuesday."

"I don't know yet," said Bucky. He tugged on Steve's ear. "What do you think?"

"A cover or one of your own?"

"Cover."

Steve played with Bucky's hand as he thought. "Favorite non-Winter Soldier song... I like 'The Best of You' a lot."

"Foo Fighters," said Clint with approval as he set his guitar aside.

"Foo Fighters it is, then."

"But people were really happy to hear 'Sunrise,' too," Steve said.

"That was a one-time thing," Bucky said. "It's not a song we want to play too often--it's too personal."

"Maybe we should have done 'Hallelujah' instead," said Clint in a thoughtful tone.

"You don't have a song called 'Hallelujah,'" Steve said, frowning, and frowned more when Bucky and Clint started laughing. 

"Leonard Cohen," Bucky said. "The Leonard Cohen song. I like it, but everybody covers it."

"No one will top Jeff Buckley's, anyway," Clint said.

"Oh, that song. I like John Cale's version." Steve picked up Clint's guitar and gave it an experimental strum. Bucky watched him through his lashes.

"That is a pretty one. Do you want to learn to play, Steve?"

"I don't have much musical talent."

"Not what I asked." He sat up and scooted over so he could sit beside Steve and play the frets. "Put your fingers over mine." He kissed Steve's hair. 

Steve curled his fingers over Bucky's hand. "I think you were right to sing 'Sunrise.' It's a good song." Bucky's fingers moved over the frets, and Steve began to strum the strings. "Though I still don't know why you covered the Britney Spears one the other night."

"Because sometimes another person's song is exactly what I want to say."

"And what did you want to say?"

Bucky pressed their cheeks together. "I want to say ... I'm really glad I met you."

"I'm really glad I met you too," said Steve and turned his head back to kiss him.

Clint groaned and got up from the blanket. "I'm going to see what Nat is up to. You two, feel free to make out or whatever when I can't see you."

"Wimp!" Bucky shouted after him, laughing, and Clint turned around to flip him off. Bucky did the same in return, and kissed Steve's cheek. "Should we make out like he said, now that we're finally alone?"

"I'm all for that," Steve said and put the guitar aside so he could kiss Bucky properly. 

After they had kissed for a while, and Bucky had his hand inside Steve's shirt so he could stroke Steve's ribs with great sweeps of his thumb, Steve said, "I just want you to know this has been the best weekend I've had in a long time. I'm so happy."

"Me too," Bucky whispered and rested his forehead on Steve's a moment. "I hate the thought of leaving you tomorrow. I wish I could put you in my pocket and bring you along."

"I wish you could, too." He paused, pressing his lips together, and then blurted, "You know how I said I won't ask you not to sleep with other people?"

Bucky pulled back to look at Steve. "Yes," he said cautiously.

"I was wrong. I can't stand the thought of you sleeping with other people. I can't stand the thought of you touching someone else or looking at them the way you look at me. I can't -- I just can't." He got up from the blanket and walked down the shore toward the water. He wrapped his arms around himself and willed himself to stop shaking. Stupid, _stupid_ thing to say, he knew -- he had no right to ask anything from Bucky, much less that Bucky be _faithful_ to someone he barely knew --

He started when he felt a hand on his shoulder, and then leaned back against Bucky's chest with a heavy sigh as Bucky slid his arm around Steve's shoulders. He kissed Steve's cheek and said, "If you don't want me to sleep with other people, I won't."

He looked back at Bucky. "Really?"

"Yeah. You don't want me too, so I won't. Hey, woah!" he said as Steve kissed him hard enough to push them both down into the sand. Steve climbed onto him and kept on kissing him as he laughed and pretended to dodge Steve's mouth.

Steve stopped kissing him and held Bucky's face in his hands. "Tell me how you're going to manage if -- I mean, if you need help coming down from the concerts and you want to stay sober --"

"I'll call you instead. We can do stuff over the phone, like Facetime and Skype and whatever."

Steve laughed. "Phone sex over Facetime."

"I'm sure we won't be the first to do it. I'll try not to keep you up too late on school nights."

"Most of my classes don't start until ten, anyway."

"Okay," Bucky said, "then I will keep you up late."

Steve kissed him, loving the dark, hungry look in Bucky's eyes. "This is going to be hard, isn't it," he whispered.

"Probably," said Bucky. "But the thing is, I think it's going to be worth it. There's no one in the world like you, Steve Rogers." He traced his finger up Steve's chest. "I could look into a thousand face and not see the same light I see in your eyes or the same dimple in your cheek when you smile that brave, half-smile." He ran his thumb over Steve's lower lip. "I want to keep you," he said simply. "And when we come back in July I want to do this again."

"Spend a few days fooling around together?" He spread his hands over Bucky's chest.

"Yeah." He picked up Steve's hand and kissed his palm. "'Cause I like you."

"I like you too," Steve whispered. "I want to keep you, too."

"Then that's what we'll do," Bucky said as he pulled Steve against his chest. "We'll make it work, Steve."

Steve nodded and kissed him, and stayed kissing him until Happy came to tell them the others were ready to go.

***

When Happy pulled up in front of Steve's house, he turned off the engine and all three of them sat in silence for a moment or two.

"Five minutes, Happy," Bucky said at last and opened the door to climb out of the SUV. Steve got out too, his backpack slung over his shoulder, and followed Bucky up the front steps. They stood in front of the door, toe to toe. The porch light was on, and Steve murmured as he wound his finger in the hem of Bucky's T-shirt, "All the neighbors could be watching."

"I thought you didn't need anyone's approval."

"I don't. I just want you to know." He leaned up and kissed Bucky, pushing a hand into his hair. 

"I don't care," Bucky murmured when they parted. "I don't care who sees. Let everyone see."

"Everyone in the neighborhood, anyway," Steve said. 

"Everyone, anywhere."

They stood for a moment more.

"You're leaving at, like, six in the morning," Steve said. "You need to get some sleep."

"I know," Bucky said. "And how am I going to get it without you next to me?"

"Call me. I won't keep you up too late."

Bucky ducked his head and smiled. "I want you to keep me up late every night." Steve smiled too, his throat feeling tight, and nodded when Bucky said, "I'll call you tomorrow when we get to the hotel. Okay?"

"Okay," Steve murmured and hugged Bucky tight. "Talk to you soon."

Bucky kissed him, arm around his neck, and muttered, "God, I miss you already," as he pulled himself reluctantly away. He went down the steps to climb back into the SUV. Happy turned on the engine and the lights, and waited to pull out of the drive until Steve was in the house.

Despite the hour, Sarah was waiting for him at the kitchen table. "Steve, sweetie," she said, closing her book. "How are you?"

"I'm okay," Steve said as he took off his backpack. "Bucky's leaving tomorrow for the next stop on the tour."

Sarah came to him and put her hands on his shoulders. "I know it was an exciting weekend, honey, and I know it's going to be hard to go back to normal life--"

"He's going to call me every night," Steve said. "We're going to give this relationship a chance."

"Steve--"

"I know," Steve said. "I know. I know it's a lot to hope for. I know he could lose interest in a week or meet somebody new in a month. But for now--" He smiled helplessly and shrugged. "He's mine."

Sarah's eyes searched his, and then she patted his cheeks and moved to the refrigerator. "Do you need something to eat?"

"No," Steve said. "I'm going to bed soon."

"Good night, honey."

"Good night," Steve said and went up the stairs to his room.

He sat on his bed and looked around the room. Winter Soldier fliers and posters and fan art, photos, sketches and paintings from his friends. He loved his room -- he loved the time he had spent making it his, making as many inches of it that he could express the things he loved and found important.

He liked it better when Bucky was there.

His phone rang, and he snatched it from his pocket and answered it without looking. "Bucky?"

"Hi, Steve," Bucky said.

End.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> "Cathedral" I imagine as having a similar progression to "Like a Friend" by Pulp.
> 
> "Sunrise" is heavily influenced by "1 John 4:6" by the Mountain Goats.
> 
> As of this chapter, "Cathedral" is complete and the entire series is on hiatus for a few months while I work on other projects.


End file.
